Boxing the Stars
by F Elizabeth
Summary: Set a few years after WaODM: Cameron Taylor is a singer and a future astronomer. When his dad's job promotion moves his family to Westerville, Ohio, he enrolls at the Dalton Academy to finish out his senior year. He expects to focus on grades, prepare for college, maybe to join in the infamous choir, the Warblers. But, for better or worse, reality is far from his expectations.
1. What's Up, Fresh Meat?

Hello, readers.

Long time, no see. I apologize for not posting as much as I promised I would. I said I'd have the sequel to WaODM up soon, but I haven't gotten around to it much. I've been so busy with school and band, and I'm applying to colleges soon! Eek!

Anyway, I haven't been on much and I've been trying to write more to the WaODM sequel, but nothing has clicked. Except for this story.

This is a story in the WaODM world, but a few years after everyone has graduated and moved on, and now there's new people, a new scene, and a new plot. All of my characters are OC and the plot came out of my own mind. The only thing that isn't mine is the place - Dalton is still Ryan Murphy's idea, not mine. And obviously, I don't own Ohio.

I don't know why I started writing this story. It just sort of got scribbled down on a piece of paper (actually, my history essay) and I wrote down a plot, and a few characters... And bam. Here's a story. It actually took up a lot more time than I imagined it would take, since I got caught up with the plot and got attached to the characters.

So to end this long introduction, I hope you like it. I hope I still have readers out there who will still read my previous stories as well as this one. I'm still surprised to get over 50 views on all my stories per day. Thank you so much!

And anyway, here's the first chapter. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**What's Up, Fresh Meat?**

* * *

"Where did you say this place was?" Cameron said to the phone sitting on the dashboard. He grabbed it when he made a turn off the highway to make sure it wouldn't slide off into the passenger seat.

"It should be off the fourth exit after Maple," his father said, his voice sounding tinny through the phone.

"And I'm taking the fourth exit after Maple," Cameron said, irritated. He gripped the steering wheel nervously and coasted off the ramp, onto the road. Beside him was a large shopping complex, filled with a movie theater and several stores. "Is there supposed to be a shopping district near it?"

A beat of silence. Then, his mother. "Yes, honey. I think there's an AMC theater near it, too."

Cameron let out a breath he had been holding in his chest. "Good. Then I'm in the right place."

"You know," his father said, "for a wannabe astronomer, you're awful at directions."

"I know, Dad. I know." He slowed to a stop at a red light and drummed his fingers against the wheel to the faint beat of whatever song was playing on the radio.

His mother chimed in. "And, you know, if you'd let us go with you right now, you wouldn't be having these directional problems."

"I know, Mom. I know."

"Cameron," his father said warningly, in that _I don't like that tone you're using with me _kind of voice.

"Sorry," Cameron muttered. He lurched forward when the light turned green and turned, the shopping district still in view. "Okay, I just turned off of"—he glanced in the rear view mirror at the street signs—"Oak Wood. Am I getting any closer?"

It was four-thirty in the afternoon, and far too late in the day for Cameron to be dealing with directions and driving on a busy road and finding a new school in a new state. A cup of Starbucks sat in the cup holder and his phone was on the dashboard, and a suitcase and two small cardboard boxes slid back and forth in the trunk, making small thumps every time he turned a corner sharply.

Each corner made him wish he had wrapped his telescope in another layer of bubble wrap. By all means, let everything else in the trunk get damaged, but save the telescope.

"Yes," his mother said over the ruffling of thin paper. She had always been accustomed to reading folding maps, not the virtual kind on the internet that most of the population used. "Your next turn should be on Birchwood."

In the background, his father muttered, "What is it with Ohio and plant-related names?"

"If you didn't get a job transfer," Cameron said lightly, "then we wouldn't be in this situation. You know, with the over-the-phone directions and plant-related names."

"Cameron," his mother snapped. "Are you really bringing this up again?"

He shook his head and watched as the shopping district faded from his side mirror. "No, Mom. Can you tell me where I'm going?"

"Turn on Birchwood," his father repeated firmly.

"Shoot," Cameron mumbled. The green street sign flashed past him, bearing 'Birchwood' in white letters, and he made a hasty U-turn that sent another car honking at him.

"I hope that wasn't a car horn," his mother said disdainfully.

"It wasn't."

His father sighed and said softly, "He's always been bad at driving, honey."

"I'm a decent driver. At least I'm not like Claude, who ran four stop signs in a row during his driver's test," Cameron said defensively, referencing his older brother's poor vehicle skills. He made the correct turn onto Birchwood and traveled away from the bustle of the main road. "And where's the next turn?"

"That's it," his mother said gleefully. "Just keep on this road and Dalton should be coming up soon. You're going to love it, Cameron. Both your father and I do."

Cameron sighed audibly and reached for the coffee cup in the holder, downing a mouthful. Trees in varying shades of green blurred past him and the road narrowed down to two lanes, one going each way. The trees formed somewhat of a canopy over the road, and sunlight trickled in wherever it could, giving the road a speckled appearance.

"Just because I liked the way they organized the brochure and the fact that they offer a bunch of advanced math classes and astronomy classes does not necessarily mean I'm going to love it." He followed the curve in the road and as he drove, the trees grew scarce and the sun grew brighter.

"Well, would you rather go to a public school?" his father snapped.

Cameron sunk in his seat. "No, but—"

"Honey," his mother said softly, "this school has a great standing. In fact, it's one of the best schools in the state. And the fact that they board is wonderful."

"You know I don't mind driving. In fact, I love driving. It's my favorite hobby," he said.

His father let out a sigh. "Stop being sarcastic."

Cameron took another winding turn, and two buildings seemed to appear from nowhere. Sitting across a flat stretch of green, the buildings were built high with maroon bricks, windows gleaming in the sun. A vast parking lot extended along one side of the plot, half filled with cars of all shapes and sizes. The front of one of the buildings was adorned with a brick marquee that proclaimed the school's name; three flag poles stood behind it and proudly waved the country's flag, the state's flag, and what looked to be the school's banner.

He absently prodded the brake to take in as much of the school as he could. Heaps of vibrant flowers hugged the outside walls, and a long pathway connected the two buildings. Leaning to the side, he saw glimpses of a sports field behind the school. He only took his eyes away from it when his mother spoke up.

"Cameron, are you still there, honey? Are you at the school?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he said faintly. He weaved his way into the parking lot and found an empty spot near the back. Quickly he cut the engine and hopped out. A wave of crisp autumn air hit him and a breeze ruffled his curled hair. He grabbed the phone from the cup holder and held it between his cheek and his shoulder as he unpacked the trunk.

"Is it nice?" his father questioned.

Cameron glanced back up at the school as he unloaded the second cardboard box. "It's beautiful."

His mother made a pleased sound. "I told you you'd love it. Now, just take your things and find the Dean's office," she instructed, her tone falling serious. "At least, that's what he said to do when we talked over the phone…"

Nodding, Cameron shut the trunk and locked the car, tucking the keys in his pocket. The two boxes were small enough to stack, one on top of the other, and fit nicely on the top of his suitcase. With his phone in hand, he dragged his things across the lot.

"I'll be fine," he assured easily. He stared up at the sky as he crossed the grounds. "And the school's in a good spot. Location wise, I mean. I think I can set up my stuff and have a good view of the sky."

His father chuckled. "Even if it wasn't in a good spot, I think you'd still enjoy it."

Cameron shrugged and followed the concrete pathway to the front of one of the buildings. He passed the stone marquee and carefully dragged his things up the steps to the double doors.

"Okay," he sighed. "I'm here. I'll call you when I get settled in and everything. Yes, okay, Mom. I got it. Okay, bye." He tucked his phone in his pocket and gripped the handle of his suitcase. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the doors.

The first thing that hit him was the heavy smell of wood polish in the air. He blinked and almost took a step back. The hallway in front of him was filled with furniture of dark wood, all tables and chairs that leaned against the walls. Floral wallpaper coated the walls, and oil paintings were displayed every few feet. The corners, where each wall met, were decorated with potted plants that were as green as the trees he had passed on the drive here.

Under his feet, the floors were a parquet design and seemed to shine. The lighting was dim, provided by a few lights hanging from the ceiling and from the sunlight that peeked through the windows. Heavy drapes of a maroon color crowded the windows.

In front of him was a large office, a single door dividing two windows. Through the glass, he saw a long counter that stretched across most of the room and five secretaries bustled behind desks. On either side of the windows were two hallways that branched off to somewhere.

Cameron let out a long breath and flexed his fingers around the suitcase handle.

Then, as he was ready to take a step forward, a crash erupted from the hallway to his left and he jumped. A boy with a plastic Nerf gun skidded into view, losing his footing because of the slick floor, and he sprinted toward Cameron. His hair was wild and the color of wet sand, and his laughter echoed against the walls.

After him came a tall boy, scrambling on his feet after the first boy. He lunged forward and tackled the boy with the gun to the floor, right in front of Cameron. In a fluid motion, the Nerf gun was in his hands and he cocked it underneath the first boy's chin, trying to catch his breath.

"Let me go, Tony," the first boy whined as he squirmed in the other's grasp.

"I'm keeping this gun," the second boy, Tony, insisted. "Okay? You're not getting this back."

The first boy attempted to jerk to his feet, but Tony pressed his knee into the small of his back.

"Do you hear me? I'm keeping this, and I don't want to see anything like it," Tony said lowly.

"Alright, alright. Just let me up already," the other boy grumbled, short of breath.

Cameron blinked, unable to move, and his blood turned to ice. What kind of school allowed Nerf guns and tackling in the hallways?

"Oh, hello." Tony clambered to his feet clumsily and made sure to keep the gun close to his side. He helped the other boy to his feet, then shoved him in the shoulder. "Get going, Nate. I don't want to see you messing anything up again, got it?"

The first boy, Nate, shrugged his shoulders painfully, cast a sharp glance at Cameron, then vanished down the hall.

"Sorry you had to see that," Tony said brightly. He ran a hand tiredly through his hair, which was dyed a dark shade of green, and he tucked the gun under one arm. "The kid can get pretty annoying sometimes."

Cameron stared at him. What kind of school allowed Nerf guns and tackling in the hallways _and _hair dye?

"That's alright." Cameron found his voice, but faintly, and he tried not to stare too obviously at the boy's hair. "Could you tell me where the Dean's office is? I'm a transfer."

The corner of Tony's lips jerked, and he gestured to the office behind him. "Through those doors, and his office should be on the left."

Cameron dropped his eyes down to Tony's, finding them a spectrum of brown. "Thanks."

"No problem," he replied, and swung the gun onto his shoulder. He started down the hallway, then stopped and looked back at Cameron. "Hey. Good luck with the transfer and everything."

"Why?" He stopped halfway between the doors to the office, one eyebrow cocked.

A devious grin crossed Tony's face. "You don't look like you'd have any trouble catching up on schoolwork a few weeks into the semester," he said, one finger toying the trigger of the gun, "but the boys here can get pretty crazy here. You know, with their initiations and pranks and all."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind," Cameron mumbled.

"And one more thing..."

He sighed, not wanting anything more than to talk to the Dean. "What?"

Tony angled the gun straight at Cameron and shut one eye in concentration. His finger twitched on the trigger and when a pop sounded, Cameron ducked, letting out a yelp; as a result, his suitcase and boxes went flying across the floor. A dart flew straight over his head and stuck against the wall. Tony blew happily against the muzzle of the gun.

"When you're picking what wing you want to be in for the rest of your life," he said casually, unaware of Cameron's obvious fright, "do yourself a favor and pick North. You'll have the lowest chances of being eaten alive."

With that, he flashed a grin and disappeared into the corridor.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Cameron emerged from the Dean's office with a packet of papers in one hand and his suitcase and boxes in the other. The packet contained his schedule, a description of all the classes he was taking, a map of the school, and a handful of other papers.

The secretaries said goodbye to him when he left the Dean's office and when he stepped out into the larger hallway, he was almost afraid of being tackled. But he dragged his things behind him and followed the map of the school.

If Cameron was awful at following directions on a road map, he was even worse trying to find his way through the mess of the school. As he walked the hallways, he turned the map at angles to attempt to get a sense of where he was.

After ten minutes of walking, he found himself at the base of a large staircase, across the hall from a pair of wide double doors. He had passed through several hallways littered with dark classrooms, trying to match up room numbers with those on his schedule. Now, he stopped and stared at the map curiously.

"Hey, are you a transfer?"

Cameron jumped and dropped the packet of papers, his heart in his throat. At the end of the hallway, a boy stood on the threshold of doors that opened to the outside. He was thin, his hair dark and neatly cut just above his eyes, and he smiled kindly. Cameron had been expecting the boy from earlier, the one who had almost shot him with the Nerf gun, and he sighed when it wasn't.

"Yes, I'm a transfer," he said somewhat sheepishly. The word sounded more like a terrible name, a disease, instead of just a word. He stooped to his knees to gather the papers.

"Here, let me help you," the boy offered and hurried toward him. As he picked up papers, he said, "My name's Hayden. Did you just get here?"

Cameron nodded and rose to his feet. "I'm Cameron. I just talked with the Dean about my schedule and boarding."

The boy, Hayden, smiled and his eyes lit up. He handed Cameron some of the papers. "You're going to board? That's awesome!"

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Cameron muttered, brushing a lock of blonde hair from his eyes. He studied Hayden. "You think you could show me around a little bit? I'm about as lost as someone's car keys."

"Absolutely." Hayden beamed, and crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. He took Cameron's schedule from him and glanced over it. If it was even possible, his smile grew wider. "Oh, you're in East! Good choice."

Cameron rubbed his temple. "Really?"

"Definitely," he said. "I'm in East, too."

"Well, at least I'll know someone." He let out a relieved breath; he felt out of place in his jeans and t-shirt. He felt as though he should be wearing the standard blazer and slacks that were neatly folded away in his suitcase, even though it was a weekend and not a day to be in uniform.

In the twenty minutes Cameron had been with the Dean in his office, they had discussed his classes, boarding, and the wings. The thought of the boy with the gun, Tony, and the North wing had popped into his head almost instantly, and he'd asked about it first. The moment he mentioned it, the Dean's face fell.

"I don't think you would like to be in North, Mr. Taylor," the Dean, whose nameplate said 'Dean Markus', said firmly. "North is a very… sporadic wing, if I have to put a word with it. The boys in that wing don't have very reliable reputations."

Cameron flashed back to the boy tackling the other, then nearly shooting him with a plastic dart. "Ah, okay."

"Now, East, on the other hand," the Dean said, "is a strong wing. They lead the others in academics, which is your field, looking at your records from your previous school." He shifted through a thin stack of papers on his desk. "I think you would be more suited there than you would in North."

He nodded. "And the other wings?"

"Not as promising as East, to be honest. South is very resilient in sports and they outrank the other wings in their on-team percentage, meaning most of the school's sports teams are made up of students from South," he explained briefly. "And West is the melting pot, you could call it. Not much to say about them, really."

"I'll take East," Cameron decided.

Now, Cameron felt Hayden nudging his wrist and it broke him from his reverie. Hayden had his schedule stretched out toward him and was reaching for one of the cardboard boxes, the one with purple duct tape across the flaps.

"Be careful with that one," Cameron said quickly as Hayden hoisted it into his arms.

"It's cool, I'll be careful," Hayden said. He almost lost his grip on it, and Cameron gasped. Hayden chuckled and tucked the box to his chest. "Wow, this one's a little heavy. What's in this thing? Books?"

Cameron swallowed over the lump in his throat. "A few, and my telescope."

"Telescope?" He started down the hallway and past the double doors and the staircase. He nudged the glass doors open with his hip and Cameron followed in suit.

"It's nothing interesting," he dismissed.

The cool air struck him again as they walked down the path that connected the two buildings. A narrower path broke off and hugged the building they had just come out of, leading to the back of it. He wanted to follow it, to see where it led, but Hayden's voice caught him.

"…and there are the sports fields," he said, nodding to the soccer field and the two baseball diamonds that were in view. He looked back at Cameron. "Do you play any sports?"

"No. None at all." He shook his head. "What about you?"

Hayden laughed shortly, his laugh sounding like wind chimes. "I can't even walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone play a sport. The last time I actually tried to be athletic was in the eighth grade and I tried out for the basketball team. I couldn't even get past the first round of tryouts because I broke my finger trying to shoot a basket."

Cameron stifled a laugh. "Ouch. That sounds pretty brutal."

"It was," he sighed, shifting the box, "but that was eighth grade. Who knows? Maybe I've gotten better. But for my finger's sake, I think I'll pass."

They approached the other building and Cameron stopped to open one of the glass doors, but Hayden kept with the curve of the walkway as it snaked around the building.

"Open those doors, and you're in for a big surprise," he said warningly.

Cameron slowly retracted his hand. "What do you mean?"

"Those are the doors that go to the North wing," Hayden explained as he started walking again, and Cameron caught up with him. They followed the pathway around the building. "Be lucky you didn't open one of those doors. They're probably having one of their annual Nerf gun showdowns again, like they do every year."

The image of the boy, Tony with his dark green hair, and the plastic gun came to mind, and Cameron shook his head.

When they reached the corner of the building, there was another set of doors, yet Hayden kept walking. Cameron did a double take of the doors, but followed the boy closely.

"What about those doors?" he inquired, gesturing to the ones they passed. He pursed his lips impatiently.

"The ones to the South wing," Hayden said. "You know, I'm glad you didn't choose South. They're a pretty sour bunch of guys."

Cameron blinked, absently keeping track of how many times the wheels on his suitcase hit a bump in the sidewalk. "'A sour bunch of guys'?"

"They're just all rude and mean," he said flatly, his voice sounding dark. "Trust me, I know. I've met plenty of them. In fact, my brother almost chose South when we first enrolled, but he changed his mind at the last second." He stopped walking when he approached a third set of double doors; he pushed it open with his elbow and held it open for Cameron.

"You have a brother?" Cameron questioned.

Hayden's lips twisted into a terrible scowl and he groaned. "Yes, and he's the worst person on the face of the planet," he explained, coming in behind Cameron and shutting the door. "And I'm not just saying that because he's my brother and brothers are naturally supposed to hate each other. He really is terrible."

"Do I want to know about this notorious brother?" Cameron asked, taking in the sights of the hallway. The ceilings were high and seemed to extend into the sky forever; the floors and walls were garnished identically to the rest of the school, with parquet flooring and floral wallpaper and paintings of landscapes.

"Nathaniel." He spat the name out like poison. "I hope you never have to meet him."

"Is he that bad?" he asked, turning to look at him.

Hayden dropped his shoulders and it looked like he was about to drop the box in his hands; Cameron flinched. "Yes, he's vile. Ask anyone about him, and they'll say he's the one of the worst people they've ever met," he said and started down the hallway.

"One of the worst?"

"There are plenty of other people on that list."

Cameron walked behind him. They passed a set of open doors that revealed a kitchen; a few boys were crowded around the island with goggles strapped to their faces. One boy poured an ounce of pink liquid into a beaker and Cameron's stomach churned when it exploded in a puff of smoke.

"That's the kitchen," Hayden said. "And actually, no one really uses it as a kitchen. We sort use it as a lab. The fridge is used to cool chemicals and beakers, the oven and the microwave are used to heat frozen things that aren't edible, but surprisingly, the dishwasher is still used to wash stuff. Go figure.

"And this is the common room," he said. He paused at the doorway of a large room, filled with couches and chairs. A media cabinet was set up on one side of the room, and on the other side was a long wooden table, where a few boys were scribbling madly in workbooks with textbooks in front of them.

Hayden nodded to a few of them when they looked up, and they smiled warmly at Cameron. Cameron didn't know what else to do but smile back and follow Hayden away from the commons.

"Oh," Hayden said abruptly, stopping. "And look up."

Cameron narrowed his eyes at him, but tilted his head back.

From the high ceilings hung large orbs of vibrant colors, some with smaller white spheres orbiting around them. They all looked to be hollow and painted with a kind of material that made them almost glitter. The largest was colored a mixture of yellows and oranges and hung at the other end of the hallway, above the doors that led outside.

A smaller ball of light pink hung beside the yellow mass, followed by a reddish globe, then one that was swirled with white and emerald and cerulean. Cameron stared at them in wonder, eyes trailing from the yellow sphere to the smallest one, dark blue, that hung over his head.

"What am I looking at?" Cameron finally said.

"The solar system, my friend," Hayden said proudly. "A few years ago, a few guys decided to make a big project of it, and so far, it's hanging in there. No pun intended."

Cameron let out a long breath. Even if he stood on the top of a ladder, he was positive he wouldn't get close to touching one of spheres. "Wow. This is amazing. Is this glass?"

"Yeah. They were all obsessed with glass blowing, if you'll believe that," he said, marveling the model. "I think it's only broken once, and that was my freshman year. Some kid accidentally shattered Neptune. Didn't blow over well at all." He paused to laugh. "Again, no pun intended."

"I can imagine," he murmured. "This is just… Wow. I can't believe someone actually had the time and the patience to do this."

Hayden nodded and adjusted the box in his arms again. "Well, I think we should continue on with the tour. Unless you'd like to just stand here all day, which is completely fine with me." He turned on his heel and started down another hallway.

Cameron blinked, then quickly followed him.

"These are the dorm rooms," Hayden said as he walked down a corridor lined with doors and tables with little lamps. The ceilings were low enough that Cameron could jump and brush his fingers against it if he tried. "Most people share rooms, about two to a room, but if you're a Precursor or a late transfer, like you, then sometimes you'll get a room all to yourself."

Cameron racked his brain. "What's a Precursor?"

"The head honcho. The boss. The one who brings home the bacon," he laughed. "He's the one who makes sure everything's in order and that the wing is functioning properly. He's also the representative for the wing, the one who talks with the Dean about stuff that needs to be talked about."

"So, who's the Precursor for East?" Cameron wondered. Each door they passed was labeled with a small golden number, and aside from that, they all looked alike.

Hayden gestured to the door labeled with the number seventeen. "Michael Graham. Don't bother him, and he won't bother you."

"Sounds like something you'd say about bees."

"Actually, Michael's allergic to bees," he laughed. "I should tell him that…"

"He sounds… delightful." Cameron picked up his pace.

"Oh, he is. Once you get to know him, obviously," the other boy said. "He just has a low patience level and a low tolerance for idiots." He paused and glanced at Cameron over his shoulder. "Not that you're an idiot, I'm sure. I'm only saying."

"Yeah, I get it." He chewed on his bottom lip. "So, when can we, er, find a room for me?"

"Right now. That's what we're doing." Hayden stopped in front of a door next to Michael's room, number eighteen. He produced a key from the pocket of his jeans and nudged the door open. Cameron froze in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Hayden called from inside. "You can come in."

"I thought we were supposed to be looking for a room for me," Cameron said timidly. He took a step over the threshold.

The room was simple, with a bed that was made up neatly and another that was a plain mattress and a wooden frame. A bureau leaned against one wall, its surface hardly cluttered, and a desk sat in the corner beside the windows. A half-empty bookcase stood by the closet.

He nodded happily and carefully set Cameron's box on the bureau. "And we've found you one!"

"We're roommates?" He couldn't help but raise his eyebrows.

Hayden shrugged one shoulder anxiously and suddenly the excitement drained from his face. "If you want to be. I mean, we can find you another room, if you'd like—"

"No, this is fine," Cameron sighed, nodding his head. He set his suitcase upright and folded his arms over his chest. "This is great."

The dark haired boy broke into a smile. "Now, let's see about getting you unpacked. You said you had a telescope, didn't you?"

* * *

Cameron studied the schedule sheet in his hands, walking slowly down one of the many halls of the school building. Hayden walked beside him and pointed out rooms, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

The two boys had spent the last hour unpacking Cameron's things and making room for them. The second bed was made up with Cameron's sheets, and his clothes took up half the walk in closet. The telescope that he had so delicately packed in layers and layers of bubble wrap was positioned next to the windows, and Cameron was pleased to see that he had a good view of the sky.

In the bathroom, he claimed half the vanity and hung up his own towels and placed his own shampoo in the shower. The books he had brought with him from home filled about a shelf of Hayden's bookcase. He felt more at home here compared to his actual house, which was newly purchased and sat half an hour away in a neat neighborhood.

"So," Hayden said as he punched the button to go up on the elevator, "why the sudden transfer?"

Cameron looked up from his schedule. "What?"

"Surely you couldn't have waited until the semester ended. Midterms are in about a month and a half," he went on. The doors slid open and he stepped inside.

"My dad got a job transfer." He stepped in and the doors slid shut almost silently behind him. "And it moved him up here. It's better money, and my mom likes the weather up here. Colder winters, right?"

Hayden let out a laugh. "Darn. I thought your excuse would have been more…" He snapped his fingers. "Exciting. Like, instead of your dad having a boring job promotion, it would've been awesome if he was some convicted criminal and he was on the run from the cops, or something."

"Are you serious? That wouldn't really be awesome."

He held up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay. You have dry humor, I see," he said. "So, job promotion, huh? What is he? World class chef? Biochemist?"

"Not quite," Cameron said. He bounced on the balls of his feet and watched the dial over the door. "He's a journalist. Some of his articles were recognized for something, and there was a newspaper company here that offered him a better deal than what his current company offered."

Vaguely he recalled the day his father had come home with the news, practically bouncing off the walls. It had been halfway through the summer, halfway through his organized plans to spend each day reading and each night up on the balcony with his telescope and a flashlight.

His father had been almost too thrilled to say anything at first, and he had had to down several glasses of water before he was able to even start explaining the offer of a better job. Of course, his mother was immediately in favor of moving from one side of the country to the other if it meant a higher income.

Cameron, on the other hand, hadn't wanted to leave the small two-story they lived in, which sat on the edge of a lake and was ten minutes away from his high school. He hadn't wanted to leave the spectacular view of the sky he had from his bedroom, or his high position in his high school's choir, or anything, for that matter.

But undeniably, he had to.

Now, Hayden walked out into the hallway when the doors opened. "That's cool. What does he write?"

Cameron's lips turned up in a small smile. "Horoscopes and some advice columns. Sometimes editorials."

"Horoscopes?" he repeated. "Really? Is that why you're obsessed with stars and stuff?"

"I guess." Cameron kept his eyes on his schedule and followed the turns of the corridor, trying to memorize as much of the building as he could.

"Does he ever let you write them?" Hayden jogged to his side.

He shrugged. "Not often. The only time I ever wrote one was for a Virgo, and I ended up copying something from a fortune cookie," he admitted grudgingly.

Hayden stifled a laugh. "Seriously? A fortune cookie?"

"Hey, don't judge. I was twelve and I didn't know what to write," Cameron defended, shuddering at the memory; he had spent three hours trying to come up with something for the reading, but ended up copying the fortune cookie he had gotten from the Chinese takeout his dad had ordered for dinner that night.

He folded his schedule along the creases and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"Don't worry. I would've done the exact same thing." He grinned and nudged Cameron in the shoulder.

They traveled the second floor of the building, with Hayden pointing out rooms, like the AV room and the Chemistry labs. They passed another elevator, this one covered in yellow caution tape.

"This one hasn't been fixed in years," Hayden said and kept walking. "They tried to fix it once, when a couple of guys got stuck a few years ago, but it doesn't really seem to work."

Cameron looked horrified. "Did the guys get out?"

"Of course they did. I don't think the Dean would stand for raising the death count any higher than it already was."

"Wait, there's a _death count _at this school?" He skidded to a halt.

Hayden rolled his eyes. "I'm kidding, Cameron. You need to learn to lighten up a little."

Taking a deep breath, Cameron matched his pace and shoved him in the shoulder, trying to keep a smile down as they came to the end of the hallway. The hallway ended in the landing of a wide set of stairs, the one where they met earlier.

Cameron leaned against the banister and stared down at the floor of the ground level. Above them, tinted glass formed a birdcage-like design that let in natural light and made the space seem open.

"So, what's that room?" he asked and nodded to the double doors that stood across from the base of the stairs.

"The choir room. It's for the Warblers," Hayden answered. He leaned over the banister just enough that it looked as if he was going to topple headfirst over, but pulled back.

"The Warblers?" Cameron repeated. "What kind of name is that?"

"An interesting name."

"It sounds like something you'd name a bird watching club."

Hayden rolled his eyes again. "We might as well be a bird watching club. I mean, our director's got hair like a peacock."

"It's multicolored?" Cameron guessed, faintly remembering the boy with the green hair and the plastic gun.

"No, it's just big." He cast a fascinated glance at the blonde. "You know, you can laugh. It's alright."

Cameron stepped back from the banister and started down the steps. "To laugh at what?"

"The fact that I'm in the choir," he said, using a tone that made the answer seem obvious. "Doesn't that seem silly to you? A guy in choir?"

He shrugged. "I was in choir back at my old school."

Hayden stopped on the step he was on. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Why?" Cameron continued down the steps until he reached the bottom, his hand lingering on the banister.

"Now that you told me that, you definitely have to try out for the Warblers." He jumped the last three steps and landed carefully next to him. "And don't think of arguing with me on this one. We really need another voice. I think we have twelve right now, but even though we have enough, one of our guys has a broken leg and can't perform."

Cameron shrugged both shoulders. "I'll think about it. Just let me get through classes and I'll see if I can handle choir," he lied. At his old school, he had juggled choir and homework without any difficulties.

Hayden's expression brightened and he looked ready to go on when there was a crash in the corridor beside them. Two figures raced into view and one skidded across the floor, crashing against the choir room doors; Cameron winced inwardly.

The boy that was sprawled on the floor struck Cameron as familiar, with hair dyed the color of grass; his arms were thrown over his face, but his hair gave him away. It was the boy he had run into earlier, Tony.

The other boy, who had sandy hair and sharp features, aimed with the plastic gun in his hands and shot several darts at the boy on the floor. He laughed loudly over the pop of the trigger and the darts stuck to the green haired boy's arm.

When Cameron anxiously glanced at Hayden, he saw that the boy's face was red, either with anger or humiliation.

"Nathaniel!" he said shortly, and the boy with the gun turned his head.

"What?" he snapped back and he waved the gun in his hands. "Hayden, can't you see I'm busy here? I'm in the middle of beating Hart to a pulp. The least you could do is shut up so I don't—"

But he was cut off when the boy with green hair lunged at his ankles and knocked him to the ground. Both boys rolled across the floor, limbs tangled.

Hayden rolled his eyes, exasperated, and he rubbed his temples.

On the floor, Nathaniel pinned Tony down with one hand, using the other to raise the gun and fire a dart. The orange dart landed in the middle of Tony's forehead with an audible pop, and Tony grappled for Nathaniel's shoulders. They flipped, with Tony looming over him.

"Quit it, Piper," he said through gritted teeth, and he wrestled the gun from Nathaniel's hands. He tossed it to the side and it skidded to a stop at the base of the stairs, right at Cameron's feet.

"Shove off, Hart," Nathaniel growled and squirmed in his grasp.

Cameron looked hastily away from the gun and to Hayden, who was looking at the two boys, unamused. "Is that your brother?"

"In the flesh," Hayden grumbled. He grabbed Cameron's arm and led him away a few steps. "And you'll want to get out of the way for this, just so you don't get hurt."

Cameron's eyes widened significantly. "Hurt?"

Now, Nathaniel attempted to scramble to his feet, but as he moved, Tony caught ahold of his shoulder and forced him face down, with his knee digging into the small of Nathaniel's back. Hayden let out a delighted snort of laughter.

"Quiet, Hayden!" Nathaniel shouted, but his voice was muffled against the floor.

Tony looked over at Hayden. "Your brother's an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, I think that's pretty obvious," Hayden replied flatly. He picked up the gun and wandered over to them with his arms folded across his chest.

Not knowing what else to do, Cameron followed him, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He stared down at the floor and drew circles with the toe of his shoe, listening to Hayden and Tony talk.

"Let up, Hart," Nathaniel grumbled from the floor, wriggling.

"As long as you don't choose me to be on your team for the next dart tournament," Tony said.

"I don't choose you, I get stuck with you."

"That's what I tell Mom and Dad all the time, but they never think it's nice for me to say," Hayden chipped in, studying the gun in his hand.

Tony finally got to his feet and brushed himself off, and Nathaniel clambered off the floor. He straightened his hair and glared murderously at Tony, who didn't seem to notice.

Nathaniel snatched the gun from Hayden and his lips were set into a deep scowl. "Watch it. I've got darts."

"And I've got seniority," he remarked without missing a beat. "And put that thing away, will you? You're going to poke out someone's eye if you're not careful."

"I hope it's yours," he grumbled, and Tony shoved him in the shoulder. Then his eyes found Cameron's and his grimace turned up into a grin. "So, who's the fresh meat?"

Cameron felt his face grow warmer and he was sure he was scarlet.

Hayden pointed a finger at Cameron. "Him?"

"No, the other guy with a bird's nest for hair," Nathaniel said bluntly. "Yes, him."

"My hair does _not _look a bird's nest," Cameron blurted and reached a hand up to thread his fingers through his curls.

Nathaniel shared a glance with Hayden and laughed. "Man, you've really got your hands full with this one."

"Cut him a break, Nate," Hayden said. He put an arm around Cameron's shoulders. "And if you even _think _about messing with him, I'll report your ass to Tony."

All eyes flew to Tony, who was picking at his cuticles, completely out of the conversation. He raised his head and blinked, his eyes a spectrum of brown. Cameron couldn't help but stare.

"Oh, come on. Just because I'm in charge of this dipshit"—he jerked a thumb at Nate, who made an unhappy noise—"doesn't mean you have to whine to me every time he does something bad."

Nate grinned wickedly and straightened. He nodded to Cameron. "So, what's your name, fresh meat?"

"Well, it's definitely not 'fresh meat'," Cameron snapped, his jaw set.

"Cameron…" Hayden warned quietly.

Tony pursed his lips to keep back a smile while Nate rolled his eyes.

"Sassy. My name's Nate. Nate Piper." He extended a hand.

Cameron merely stared at it, one eyebrow raised. He felt the back of his neck flushing.

Nate's grin fell from his face and he looked at Hayden. "Good luck with this one," he scoffed. He cocked the gun and pressed the muzzle against Tony's chest. "Play again, Mr. Jolly Green Giant? We've still got some time before dinner."

"No," Tony said intently and pushed the gun away.

"Aw, you're no fun anymore. Who peed in your milk this morning?" he joked. He was the only one smiling madly, as the others wore blank expressions; Cameron was focusing his gaze on the ground, hoping his flush would fade.

Nate sighed. "Alright, that's cool. No one answer me. I'll just leave you to your quiet game," he said and walked away, through the hall he had come through. After his footsteps had faded, Hayden let out a relieved sigh.

"Hayden, I hate your brother sometimes," Tony mumbled darkly.

"I can't believe you're brothers," Cameron added in awe.

Hayden nodded. "Twins."

"You're not twins."

"They are," Tony chimed in. He was looking at his nails again, picking at them incessantly.

Hayden shrugged lazily. "Fraternal. I'm two minutes older, though. I guess that's a perk," he said. "But yeah, you've met my brother, aka Satan."

Cameron stifled a laugh. "He seems like it. Like Satan, I mean."

A beat of silence passed over them, and Hayden picked at his lip. Tony dropped his hands to his sides and tucked them in the pockets of his jeans, his green hair falling in front of his eyes. He was taller than both Cameron and Hayden, and Cameron had to tilt his head back a little to look at him.

"Well, if we're going to continue with the introductions," Hayden said a moment later, "Cameron, this is Tony. Precursor for the North wing."

Tony kept his head down and his grin reached his eyes. "We've met already."

Cameron kept his eyes on him and didn't look over when Hayden stared at him. His chest felt tight.

"Really?" Hayden said. "When?"

"He shot a dart at me when I was trying to talk to the Dean," Cameron said, then smoothed his tongue across the fronts of his teeth. He rocked back and forth on his feet, then gauged Hayden's expression.

"I didn't exactly shoot a dart _at_ him," Tony corrected quickly. "I shot a dart at the wall _behind _him. Distinct difference."

"If I hadn't ducked, it would have hit me."

Tony stared at him, a small crinkle forming between his eyebrows. "Okay, fine. I shot a dart _at _you. Happy?"

Cameron smiled the slightest bit. "Very."

Hayden slapped his hands over his face. "Tony, what have I told you about shooting darts at people, especially the newbies?"

* * *

"Dude, what are you doing? It's two in the morning," Hayden's voice came from across the room.

Cameron snapped his head around, his curls bouncing around his face and his mouth half full. "What?"

Hayden sat up in his bed and rubbed his face tiredly. "I said, it's two in the morning and you're… you're eating and playing with your telescope."

"Oh. I guess I am." Cameron lifted one shoulder and reached for the small bag of chocolate chips that sat on the window seat next to a pile of charts. He emptied a handful into his mouth and pushed his glasses up his nose; he had taken out his contacts around eleven, when they'd started to give him a headache. "Is that going to bother you if I do that?"

"Nah, you're fine. As long as you don't perform experiments on me while I'm sleeping, we're good," he said.

Cameron tried not to show his shock. "Experiments?"

"Freshman year, his name was Harry, and he got expelled for trying to inject me with arachnid DNA in the middle of the night, hoping I would turn into Spiderman," Hayden said briefly. "Since then, I've been careful about choosing my roommates."

Cameron held up his hands in defense. "You won't have to worry about me trying to turn you into a mutant. I hate needles."

After the meeting Nate and Tony in the hallway, Cameron had followed Hayden to the dining hall for dinner. The dining hall was a vast room with a domed ceiling and several circle tables. It served a variety of food, from salad with every dressing and topping imaginable to the meatiest dishes; there were also cultured dishes, like sushi.

Even in a private boarding school, Cameron had discovered, there were cliques. During dinner, he had sat with Hayden and a few others from the East wing, including Michael Graham, the Precursor. He was a boy who had gotten the short straw on genes; his nose was slightly crooked and his smile was lopsided, his brown hair flat, but he kept the conversation moving.

Three others had sat at the table with them, but Cameron hadn't been able to keep track of their names. He had always been bad with matching names with faces and vice versa; but they had seemed nice enough.

Near the end of dinner, Nate had swung by the table and hit Hayden over the head with his empty tray, which made Michael and the others roll their eyes in unison. Tony had been with him and he shot smirk at Hayden.

Now, Hayden was sitting upright with a blanket pulled up to his shoulders. He leaned over a flicked the bedside table lamp on, which filled the room with gold. Blinking, he eyed the bag of chocolate in Cameron's hands.

"You know," he said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, "we aren't allowed to have food in the dorms. The Dean says it attracts bugs and small animals."

Cameron swallowed thickly and zipped the bag shut.

"But that doesn't mean we can't, necessarily," Hayden finished. He plopped down on the window seat, careful not to sit on Cameron's charts, and plucked the bag from his hands.

"Will we get in trouble?" Cameron shifted and reached for the telescope, angling it a different way.

He swallowed and placed the bag between them and he leaned back against the window. "No. Michael always says we'll get in trouble, but he hoards food in a fridge in his closet. He's the worst out of all of us," he chuckled.

Cameron smiled briefly and peered through the scope, the black sky magnified in front of his eyes.

"What's with you and the stars?" Hayden asked, tapping the telescope.

"They just interest me," he said. He blew a curl from his face and pushed the telescope away. "I mean, my family has always been really superstitious and my cousins always told me that the end of the world would come any day now, and I believed them. Stop laughing, Hayden. I was only twelve."

Hayden covered his mouth with one hand and used the other to wave him on.

Cameron rolled his eyes. "Anyway, it was pretty awful to be told that the world was going to end. I was only twelve, and I had barely started middle school; it was too early for the world to end. So, I borrowed a book about astronomy from my school's library, and it held everything I would ever need to know. It said that all stars are suns.

"I read the entire book from cover to cover the day I checked it out, and I actually got in trouble for keeping it past the due date just because I loved reading it over and over again. One night, after I'd finished reading it for probably the hundredth time, I went out and looked at the sky and there were pinpricks of light looking down at me.

"So I compared those small lights with the blinding light of the sun during the day. If those starts were suns like the actual sun, the one we see during the daytime, how far away were they? And if they were that far away, then how big was the universe? How far did it stretch? What else was out there that wasn't discovered already?"

By the time he finished speaking, Cameron's arms were stretched out as far as they would go and his throat was tight with excitement. He found himself on his feet and he dropped his arms to his sides.

"Wow," Hayden said in a long breath, the bag of chocolate chips limp in his hand. "That's just… wow. You should teach the astronomy class here. I don't think anyone would protest. Professor Whitney is a whack job."

"Oh, great. I have a whack job as the teacher for my favorite class." Cameron dropped back onto his bed and threw his arms over his face.

"If you joined the Warblers," Hayden said in a sing-song voice, "then Ms. Lovett would be the whack job for your favorite class. Because class time with the Warblers is stellar."

Cameron moved his arms to see Hayden empty the rest of the bag of chocolate into his mouth. "Wonderful. She's a whack job, too?"

"All the teachers here are whack jobs, to be completely honest. You just have to know how to deal with them." Hayden crumpled the bag and shot it, basketball style, to the waste paper basket by the desk, but it missed, and he stood to retrieve it. "And that reminds me: I know I've already said this, but you should definitely try out for the Warblers. I don't think Lovett would mind if you auditioned this late in the semester."

"Why's that?" Cameron trudged to his feet and collapsed the telescope, drawing the blinds over the windows.

"We're looking for one more to join so we can go to Sectionals in a month," he explained, dropping onto his bed. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "And Sectionals is a big deal. If you don't win, you don't go to Regionals. And Regionals is an even _bigger _deal. And if you win that, you go to Nationals, which is the _biggest deal of them all_."

Cameron narrowed his eyes at him oddly and pulled the sheets back on his bed. "I can tell."

Hayden hugged a pillow to his chest. "Just think about it. Lovett won't care if you're tone deaf and love Nickleback," he said. He paused, then said, "Okay, maybe she will, but at least you'll be another addition and the gates to Sectionals will be wide open for us."

"Okay, okay. I'll think about it. But no promises. I'm not Mariah Carey." He reached over and flipped off the light, plunging the room into darkness.

Hayden chuckled. "I didn't expect you to be. Now go to sleep. You're going to need to be wide awake to survive this place."

* * *

_In the next chapter: Cameron attempts to settle in with his wing, finds solace in the Doctor, and gets to know the person who will ruin the rest of his senior year._


	2. Allons-y!

Hello, readers.

So to all my US readers, happy late Fourth of July. To all my Canadian readers, happy late Canada Day. To all my other readers, I don't know if there were any national holidays since I last posted, but anyway, happy late national holiday that I don't know about.

Anyway, my summer has been pretty boring so far, but around the end of the month, I'll be at marching camp for my high school band, which means updating not as much. I know I haven't been updating a lot to begin with, but I probably won't be able to update as much as I want to.

So yeah. Here's the second chapter of Boxing the Stars. Hope some of you Doctor Who fans like this one.

Enjoy and review!

* * *

**Allons-y!**

* * *

"Hey, Hart. I need to talk to you." Hayden braced his hands against the edge of the table and leaned forward.

Tony lifted his head, his eyebrows raised. "You're using my last name. That must mean you're serious."

"I'm always serious," he said. "But really, I need to talk to you."

"If this is about your insane attempts to get Markus to agree to allowing East to hold a science fair this year," Tony said, standing up from the table and wandering toward a shelf packed with books, "then I'm not going to help you. You remember what happened last year."

Hayden leaned his head back and sighed. "Okay, I know we may have caused a little bit of damage last year with one of our experiments—"

Tony whipped around to glare murderously at him. "A little bit of damage? You blew a hole in the wall that went clean through to North! That's not 'a little bit of damage'."

"So it was a lot of damage. But that's not what I want to talk to you about, though it's pending," he said and he followed him through the maze of shelves. "I want to talk to you about Cameron."

"That guy that was hanging around with you Sunday?" Tony picked a book off the shelf at random, studied the cover, then stuck it back in place. He moved on down the aisle.

Hayden nodded. "You know exactly who I'm talking about. Blonde curly hair, average height, sassy mouth that back-talked my brother."

"The one who talks like he swallowed a dictionary?"

"That's the one."

"Why do you want to talk about him?" he asked. "He seems fine to me."

"It's barely Day Three of his time here, and I think he's still traumatized, Tony."

Tony wrinkled his brows and stopped. He stretched onto the tips of his toes to reach a book and skimmed the back of it. "Traumatized from what? It's not like anything bad has happened to him." He took a pause and looked at Hayden from the corner of his eye. "Nothing bad has happened to him, right?"

"Well, other than the fact that you practically assaulted him with that damned dart gun of yours the moment he stepped into the building," he said loudly, "then no, he's absolutely peachy keen."

He rolled his eyes and weaved through the shelves to the table where his bag was sitting. "Relax, Hayden. I didn't assault him. I made a smart remark and shot a dart at the wall, which happened to be by his head. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Just… stay away from him." Hayden crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the table. His voice was softer. "He told me he moved here all the way from Texas. Texas, Tony. That's on the other side of the country. We're in different _time zones, _for crying out loud."

"What's your point? So he moved from Texas. I don't think I'd care even if he'd moved from China."

Hayden rested his chin in his hands and his elbows on the tops of his knees. "Just cut him a break, Tony. It's obvious he's a little homesick and I don't think he's been in a boarding school before."

Tony forced back a grin. "Yes, because private school is so hard."

"Would you stop making jokes?" he snapped. "I want to make sure Cameron's okay with being here. I want to make sure he feels at home."

"Well, get Michael and a couple of the other guys together and throw him some kind of nerd initiation party, or whatever you do in East," Tony said as he shrugged his bag over one shoulder. "Reruns of 'NCIS' and sharing your opinions of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, right?"

Hayden pulled his hands from his face. "Oh, shut up. That's not all we do."

"Oh, I forgot. You mark calendar dates for 'Dungeons and Dragons' tournaments, too."

Hayden stared flatly at him, his lips pursed. "I am not going to reply to that," he said tautly. "But seriously, just give Cameron some space."

"Why do I matter in this at all?" he asked. "We're in different wings. It's not like we're going to be seeing each other every single day. I don't know why you're freaking out."

"Well, you might have a class with him."

Tony snorted. "If I had a class with him, I think I would've noticed by now."

"_Do _you have a class with him?" he questioned.

"Maybe."

"Tony!"

He whipped around defensively. "What? We have math class together, okay? What's so bad about that?"

"I don't want you shooting darts at him during class!" Hayden said.

"I won't, because I'm pretty sure Mr. Hayes won't allow plastic guns in his classroom."

Hayden wrinkled his nose distastefully. "Funny, Tony. Real funny. And he might be auditioning for the Warblers," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I mean, I talked to him about it. He was in his choir at his old school. He'd be the last guy we need to go to Sectionals, since Louis can't go, what with his leg and all."

"If he does audition for the Warblers and makes it, then more power to him." Tony weaved through several round tables and was confronted with Hayden's silence. "What?"

"Moving across the country and trying to fit in at a new school is a big deal, Tony. I don't want you adding to his list of problems." Hayden crossed his arms sternly and raised his chin.

"I am not a problem. I'm an angel," Tony protested. He approached the desk at the front of the library, punching in his ID number into the computer and scanning the barcode of the book.

"I don't care if you're _Jesus_. Don't be the reason he wishes he'd never moved." Hayden's glare lingered on him, and he stalked out of the library.

Tony rolled his eyes and jammed the book in his bag.

* * *

Cameron urgently flattened himself against the refrigerator, his eyes wide. "Michael, are you sure that's safe?"

Michael Graham chuckled and carefully held out a beaker teeming with a purple liquid. Smoke was pooling out of the top of the beaker and it smelled faintly of mint.

"Absolutely," he assured as he set the beaker on a wire stand. His eyes were shielded by a pair of bulky goggles and he wore a large white cloak over his uniform.

"Are you sure it's not going to explode when we're not expecting it?" Cameron asked.

Michael nodded. He reached for a box and snapped on a pair of latex gloves, flexing his fingers. "If it was going to explode, I would make sure we were out on one of the sports fields. There is no way I would risk destroying our kitchen."

Cameron peeled himself from the fridge. The goggles over his own eyes distorted everything slightly. "Has the kitchen ever been damaged before?"

"Once. When I was a freshman," Michael said. He watched the beaker closely. "The Precursor at the time accidently mixed something with another something, and—poof. We had a hole in the ceiling and the cabinets were deteriorating. We got it fixed, but we're never allowed to have foreign chemicals again."

"Foreign chemicals?" His voice sounded high with tension.

The Precursor shrugged indifferently and moved around the kitchen island to turn down the burner that was heating another tube, this one bubbling with red. "We used to sneak stuff in—someone's dad was a chemist and he let us have samples to try. But Markus found out what we were doing after the whole kitchen fiasco and now he requires almost a strip search of every East student when we come back from holidays."

"That sounds…" Cameron flinched when a beaker of thick red liquid bubbled. "Interesting."

The kitchen was a chemistry lab, to be frank. The fridge was filled with tubes and beakers and the freezer housed the goggle rack; the pantry, instead of being stuffed with junk food, contained powdered mixing chemicals. A rack for the white cloaks hung on the backs of the kitchen doors.

In the back of the room, a long cord hung down from the ceiling that was used as an acid shower in the case that someone came in contact with any acid; an eyewash station was installed in the sink. The long table that Cameron supposed would have been used for eating on was stacked with metal dissecting trays, metal instruments, and an array of microscopes.

For the past three mornings, Cameron had come in to watch Michael and a group of other boys tinker and play around with chemicals. Michael and another boy, Roger Beaumont, were the ones who were usually the most captivated with blending substances and seeing what would happen.

The other three boys stayed in the back the majority of the time, testing the microscopes. On the second day, one of them had come in with a frog he had "borrowed" from the biology lab. He and the two others had strapped it to a metal tray and dissected it, all before the first bell rang.

"Oh, believe me, it is." Michael's voice was alight with enthrallment. "And if you're wondering, we get all of our stuff from the chemistry labs in the school. We sneak all the stuff from there and Markus doesn't seem to care. I guess he thinks it's okay to sneak school property, just as long as we're not sneaking in our own stuff."

Cameron pursed his lips and watched as Michael lifted the beaker with purple liquid. He gently poured it into the container holding the red substance and the chemicals blended smoothly, turning a violent brown color. Cameron snapped his head up.

"Is that supposed to turn that color?" he asked hastily.

Michael blanched and took a step back. "I don't think so."

"Then what are we going to do?" Cameron shrieked. The beaker overflowed, the counter oozing with the brown liquid.

There was an audible pop.

"Duck!" Michael shouted and he dropped to the floor.

Cameron did the same and as he did, a fit of popping sounded, like a group of fireworks being set off all at once. Warm drops of something rained on his back, followed by small, hard chips. Slowly the popping ceased and Cameron tentatively raised his head, too stunned to get a word out.

On the other side of the counter, Michael shakily got to his feet, and his goggles were splattered with brown. He ripped them off and squinted at the cabinet.

"Well, at least there isn't any erosion," he sighed, sounding relieved. His face dropped. "Yet."

"Yet?" Cameron repeated. He stood up and found his white cloak dotted with the liquid, glass chips from the shattered beaker in his hair.

On the counter, the remains of the beaker sat, looking almost like a broken crown. The edges were chipped hazardously and whatever was left of the chemical bubbled weakly at the bottom of the glass.

Michael pursed his lips. "There is a possibility that it could react differently than I supposed. It could eat away at the counter."

"And if it starts eating away at the counter?" He shook his curls to get rid of the glass chips and they landed with a _plink, plink, plink _on the floor.

"Then we're as good as dead," he decided. "The last time we blew up something and the counter got eaten away, Markus was not happy. If we have half a kitchen counter when our next wing inspection rolls around, we're toast."

Cameron picked another glass chip from his hair. "There are wing inspections?"

"Once every three weeks," Michael said. "A few years ago, the North and South wings decided to go at it and prank each other for months on end. It was terrible. I mean, imagine greased doorknobs, clogging the kitchen sink and letting it overflow, and moving all the furniture from the commons to the yard." He chuckled without color. "So, because of them, we have frequent wing inspections."

"That sounds… lovely," Cameron muttered. He gestured to the beaker. "How are we supposed to clean this up?"

"Very carefully." Michael strapped his goggles back on and flexed his glove-covered hands.

A knock came on the kitchen doors and one opened up, revealing Roger. His dark auburn hair was combed perfectly into place and it contrasted with his fair skin. His dark blue eyes swept the room as he walked in.

"Whoa. I knew you guys were experimenting in here," he said, staring at the counter, "but I didn't know you were planning on blowing things up. You should've gotten me; I love blowing things up."

Michael rubbed his face. "Sorry, Roger. It just happened. Trust me, the next time we plan to explode something, we'll come get you."

He beamed with the smile from a toothpaste commercial. "Awesome. And aren't you supposed to be getting ready? Class starts in five minutes."

"Five minutes?" Cameron blurted, his jaw dropping. He started to remove his cloak, throwing it over his head, and some of the glass chips that were stuck to it ran across his face. "Ouch. Why didn't you come get us before now?"

"I thought you knew what time it was!" Roger said.

"Oh, my gosh. We're going to be late for class," Michael moaned.

"And we have to clean this up," Cameron added. He whipped off his goggles and stuck them in the freezer on the rack. With the cloak folded over one arm, he sidestepped glass pieces.

Roger shot a glance to the clock. "I think you're going to have to clean it up later, guys. You're not going to have time."

Cameron glared at him. "What are _you _still doing? Aren't you going to be late?"

"I'm a student aide. I work in the office," he said proudly. "It's not like my help is actually needed most of the time. All I do is sit around and play solitaire—"

"Then can you do us a favor and clean this up for us?" Michael said hurriedly. His cloak was caught over his head as he tried to remove it, but finally he wrestled it off and slung it sloppily on the rack.

Roger's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Three minutes," Cameron said shortly. "We have three minutes until first period starts." When he felt something wet on his cheek, leaned forward to look at his reflection in the microwave. Some of the glass had cut his face and a few thin lines of red dotted his cheeks.

"You might want to get a bandage on that," Michael said with his head in the freezer. He slammed the door shut and stared at the counter. The liquid hadn't combusted again and the counter looked to still be intact.

"It's not that bad." Cameron whipped around to face Roger. "Please? We'll pay you back if you do this for us."

"I'll do your English homework for you until midterms," Michael offered with a smile.

Roger flattened his expression. "You and I both know that I am fully capable of doing my own English homework."

"But you hate English! You always that that Mrs. Joyce is a fat hog that should go to—"

He waved his hands in the air. "Alright, alright, we don't need to go into that," he said, noting Cameron's expression. "Fine, you can do my English homework and I'll clean this up for you. But I swear to God, if I—"

Michael threw his arms around his neck in a brief hug. "Thank you so much!"

"But you're already late, so what's the point?" Roger asked, stiffening.

Cameron dropped his shoulders and glanced at the clock. First period began at exactly eight-fifteen and it was nearly eight-twenty. He let out a furious groan and ran his hands through his curls.

"Well, at least we won't be any more late than we already are if we decided to clean up!" Michael said cheerfully. He took a pause. "Wait, did that make sense?"

"What was that about you getting to class?" Roger said loudly.

Michael slapped a hand on his forehead. "Right! Come on, Cameron."

Cameron shot Roger a grateful expression before following Michael out the door. But as soon as both boys were in the hallway, they heard a great rumble, followed by a shout. Cameron froze and sucked in his breath.

"Maybe there was _one _more explosion left in that mix," Michael said sheepishly.

* * *

Cameron sprinted down the hallway. His bag slammed against his hip and he gripped the strap until his knuckles turned white from the tension. The corridor around him was empty and his throat was tight. The bell had rung nearly twenty minutes ago.

All the classrooms looked the same to him and finally he caught the correct room number. He nearly lost his footing when he tried to stop and he gripped the door knob. Yanking the door open, he slipped into the room with the blood rushing to his face and the cuts on his cheek burning.

Half the desks were filled with boys, most of whom were staring at him. Cameron sank back against the door sheepishly.

At the front of the room, Mr. Hayes raised an eyebrow skeptically and lowered his hand from writing on the white board.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Hayes," Cameron rambled. "I just lost track of time, and I got lost, and—"

Mr. Hayes, a short man with graying hair, stopped him. "Say no more, Mr. Taylor. New students have a week to get used to their schedules before punishment is enforced. Please, take a seat and get out your homework. We're checking the assignment from last night."

Cameron nodded shortly and ducked his head as he made his way to his seat on the far side of the room, underneath the windows. He sat down in the first desk and rummaged through his bag for his spiral.

"Late, Mr. Taylor? What a shame."

Cameron flinched at the whisper that came from behind him and flattened his spiral on his desk, whipping around in his seat to face the boy sitting behind him. He found himself glaring into eyes that were colored by a spectrum of brown, and it startled him for a moment.

"Would you lay off, Tony? I'm not in the mood right now," he grumbled and flipped to the page where he had scrawled the three pages that were homework the previous night. He dug out a pen and attempted to focus on the answers Mr. Hayes was writing, but Tony's voice drew him back.

"I'm just saying. You weren't late yesterday." He spun a pen between his fingers. "And we're supposed to peer correct homework."

Cameron set his jaw and plopped his open spiral on Tony's desk. "Well, I'm sorry for not living up to your incredibly high standards."

"It's alright. I hardly live up to them, either." He handed Cameron his paper and clicked his pen repeatedly. "So what did East blow up that made you so late?"

"What?" Cameron nearly shouted, but caught himself at the last second. He crossed his legs and started comparing the answers on the board to the answers on Tony's paper… if he could understand his writing. It was almost illegible, chicken scratch.

"I'm just wondering. Michael and Roger usually do some pretty crazy stuff in the mornings. I think it's from all that coffee they drink. Screws up their brains," Tony said. He circled one finger around his ear.

Cameron swallowed and scribbled a mark over one of the incorrect problems on Tony's paper. "It was a minor explosion."

A smile appeared on Tony's face. "So something _did _blow up. I knew it."

"Now is not the time to gloat," he said and scribbled out another problem, then another. "And you need to pay attention when Hayes is explaining the lesson. You've missed three so far."

"No, my answers are right. You're just not reading them correctly." Tony leaned forward in his seat to peer at his paper.

Cameron refrained from turning his head and he felt his neck flush. "Your handwriting is terrible," he mumbled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony's emerald hair and he flattened his lips.

"My writing is fine." Finally, Tony sat back and handed him his spiral. "Congrats. You got everything right."

"As always," he remarked, passing back Tony's sheet. "And congrats. You didn't get everything right."

Tony twisted a lock of his hair between his fingers and leaned back in his seat. "Nobody's perfect."

Cameron smoothed his tongue over the fronts of his teeth and watched Mr. Hayes slowly erase the board, mumbling under his breath. To keep his hands busy, he drew loopy circles on the side of his paper. Then came a tap on his shoulder.

"What's wrong with your face?" Tony asked in almost a whisper.

"That's not a nice thing to say to someone," Cameron responded sharply without turning around.

"Okay, sorry. Your face is wonderful, but you've got claw marks. Did you run into a bear on the way here?"

Cameron turned to face him and he reached up to brush his fingers against his face. He felt the thin lines under his fingertips. "Oh, those. One of our beakers exploded and you can guess what happened after that."

Tony leaned back, the light from the windows catching his green hair, and he nodded. "Looks pretty bad. Hope it doesn't get infected."

"Would you just stop talking for once?" he snapped. "I can barely hear myself _think_—"

"Boys!"

Cameron jumped in his seat and he was surprised that Tony flinched. Mr. Hayes stood in front of them with a hard glare.

"I am trying to teach you things that you will probably never use again in your everyday lives, but I would still appreciate it if you paid attention," he said sternly. "If you'd rather not, there are two seats out in the hallway with your names on them."

"Yes, sir," Cameron stuttered out and he turned to face front. He felt the gazes of the other boys boring holes in his head, and his face flushed.

"We won't be a problem anymore," Tony said with a slight grin. "Promise."

Mr. Hayes _hmp_ed and returned to the front of the room. "And Mr. Hart?"

"Sir?"

"Please change your hair color to something less… distracting."

Tony tilted his head to the side. "You don't like green?"

Mr. Hayes clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and said, "I think the purple looked better, to be honest."

Furrowing his brows, Cameron glanced over his shoulder once Mr. Hayes was facing the board, writing out the assignment. "You had purple hair?" he asked in disbelief.

He hummed in consent. "Once upon a time."

Rolling his eyes, Cameron turned to face the front of the room and copied what was on the board.

* * *

After the final bell rang, Cameron found himself in the back corner of the library. He had made it through the entire school day without any trouble—all of it had been packed into the morning.

First, the kitchen explosion. He had seen Roger in the hallway once between third and fourth periods, and his hair was a little scorched on the tips. The scratch marks from the glass were still on his face, but they stung less than they had earlier.

Second, was Tony Hart making snide remarks and tapping his pen against the side of his desk the entire period in their math class. A few times Cameron had gotten out of his seat to get a textbook, even though he didn't need one, just to glare at the other boy. His pen was always tapping out some rhythm on his desk and he spent the entire period staring out the window at the sports fields.

Cameron had almost asked why he was wasting so much of his time doing nothing, but swallowed the urge before he could say anything.

During lunch, he had sat with Michael, Roger, and Hayden, and listened as they discussed topic after topic. Roger brought up the Academic Decathlon that was being held in late November, the week before they left for Thanksgiving break.

"Is that a school-wide thing?" Cameron had asked, not paying much attention to the food on his tray.

"It's an East thing," Roger said through a mouthful of pasta. He swallowed. "Each wing likes to do their own thing. We hold Decathlons and South holds cross country races. We hold cheesy TV marathons and North holds Nerf gun tournaments."

"What does West do?"

Hayden snickered into his hand. "They just sit around and recite Hamlet all day."

Now, Cameron flipped the cover of his spiral shut, finished with the homework Mr. Hayes assigned, and sat back. The library was empty, aside from the librarian, who sat at the front of the room behind a large desk, a paperback with a muscled man and a girl in a half torn dress on the cover.

He glanced down at his bag when he heard a faint buzzing noise and he pulled out his phone. But when he saw the caller ID, he nearly dropped it on the table.

_Peter Landry._

"Oh, God, why are you calling?" Cameron whispered heatedly at the phone. He gripped it in his hand, feeling it pulse with each time it rang, and glanced around before tapping the screen. "Hello?"

"Uh, hey, Cameron," said a smooth voice.

Cameron felt as though a python was slowly weaving its way around his throat and he absently yanked at his tie. "Hi, Peter."

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Fine." He stood up and moved to the back of the library, where the shelves were covered in a good five years' worth of dust. No one had a use for the back of the library, seeing as it was where all the dictionaries and encyclopedias and biographies sat. He sunk down on the floor and leaned against a shelf.

He imagined Peter fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt on the other end. "Is Ohio treating you well?"

_Better than you did, _he wanted to say. But instead, he uttered, "It's okay. The school is nice."

"You should come back to Texas," Peter said after clearing his throat. "I miss you."

Cameron bit his tongue. He knew Peter was expecting him to say, "I miss you, too," but he didn't. He shifted and some of the book dust wafted down on his shoulders.

"You know I can't," he said instead, wiping the dust off his uniform. "My dad's got a good job here and my mom has already baked cookies for the neighbors." He chuckled, hoping to sound casual, but it sounded dreary.

"Oh. Once your mom brings out the cookies, it's too late," Peter laughed.

Cameron pinched his lower lip between his teeth until he faintly tasted blood. At the sound of Peter's laugh, he brought his knees to his chest and ducked his head down. It was the sound that made his heart race, that made his knees weak.

"Cam? Are you there?" Peter asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I'm here," Cameron said, lifting his head. "So how's Texas? Everyone holding up without me?"

Peter laughed again. "Sort of. Greg's taken your spot as first chair," he reported sadly. "Everyone wanted to push him off a cliff when we got the results."

"Are you still second chair?" he asked, trying his best to sound hopeful.

"Of course."

"That's good."

Cameron recalled his junior year, standing in the middle of the risers with Peter in the row behind him. When the director wasn't looking, Peter would prod him teasingly in the small of his back and Cameron would try his best to not laugh out loud, or he would wind one of Cameron's many curls around his finger.

Before class started, they would sit at the back of the risers and Peter would doodle on the inside of Cameron's wrist until the bell rang. The ink would stay there the entire period until it faded or Cameron washed his hands. Then, during lunch, Peter took to drawing on napkins and sliding them across the table to Cameron, filled with little pictures that made no sense.

"Yeah, but it's sort of empty without you," Peter said, drawing Cameron from his reverie. "Mrs. Hodges cried the first day back and Greg was pissed."

"Tell her I said hi," he said weakly. Mrs. Hodges was the choir teacher he'd had for three years, with graying hair and a knack for feeding her choir lemon poppy seed muffins. "And tell Greg to stop being such a prick."

Peter laughed again. "Will do." He took a moment to pause. "So, meet anyone you like yet?"

Cameron stiffened and he stretched his legs out in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes you're so dense, Cam," he said. "I mean, since you're going to a boys' boarding school, I was wondering if, you know…" He trailed off.

"Oh. Oh, I don't know," Cameron said quickly. He wanted to add more, but stopped.

"It's fine if you have."

"Have you?" His voice sounded sharp.

Peter hesitated. "No. Since you left, I'm the only out guy at school," he said.

"You could always find someone outside of school," Cameron reminded him. The back of his neck felt hot and his cheeks held a permanent glow. At the last second, he added, "Like Mia."

"I don't want to bring Mia into this. I'm done with her. I'm done with girls, in general." Peter sounded irritated. "I miss you, and I want you to come back, but I know you won't. I'm glad your dad has a better job and everything, and your mom is making friends with the freaking neighbors already, but I still miss you."

Cameron's fingers tightened around the phone. "It didn't work out, Peter. You know it didn't. And it was your fault."

"Don't remind me of that," he replied. "I know I messed up majorly, but I still want to work something out. We were happy together."

"Before your douche move," Cameron muttered.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. And it's not going to work. We're in different time zones and we're across the country from each other. It's not like we can see each other every day. Hell, I don't think we could even see each other once a _month_."

"We can make it work," he stated intently. "There's Skype, and email, and Facebook—"

Cameron got to his feet and reached for his bag. "No, Peter. Nothing is going to work. Maybe if you hadn't… done what you did, then maybe I would be open to trying to figure something out. But you were sneaking behind my back, and I wasn't happy."

Peter sighed. "I know, I know, but I'm done with Mia. I told her to stop talking to me, to stop calling me. We're done, I'm over her."

"I don't care if you're over her. I'm not over what you did. Any of it." Cameron tightened his tie and, through the shelves, he saw a blur of navy and his heart stopped. "This is a bad time, Peter. I'll call you back if I have time."

"Cameron—" he protested, but the call ended and Cameron jammed the phone in his pocket. He held his breath.

Hayden appeared by one of the shelves, looking drained. "Are you okay?"

"Absolutely," Cameron said with a fake spring in his voice. "Why?"

"You sounded like you were really upset," he said shyly and leaned against the shelf.

Cameron dropped his shoulders. "How much did you hear?"

"Not that much," he assured. "Just the part about you saying that something wasn't going to work."

Shifting on his feet, Cameron nodded, staring at the floor. His entire body felt hot and he hoped his face wasn't scarlet.

Hayden licked his lips. "Who were you talking to?"

"He…" Cameron started, but stopped. "We're sort of on a break, but we weren't really together when I moved, but he was still sort of my boyfr—" He stopped, blood turning to ice, and he slapped a hand over his mouth in terror.

"What?" Hayden asked. He stepped away from the shelf.

Cameron put his face in his hands. "If you're going to punch me, please avoid my face. That's all I'm asking."

"Dude, you're acting weird," he said, completely lost. "What's going on?"

"Did you not just hear what I said?"

"You almost said you had a boyfriend, but I don't see what's so bad about that."

Cameron dropped his arms to his sides and let his jaw drop. "Do you hear what you're saying?"

"Do you hear what _you're _saying?" Hayden asked. He looked torn between a grimace and a laugh. "You're sputtering a million words per minute and I'm not keeping up with anything. What's wrong?"

"Aren't you going to shun me? Push me into the garbage bins during dinner?" Cameron raised his hands over his head. "Or shove me against the walls between classes? Put mayonnaise in my shampoo?"

Hayden gripped his shoulders suddenly to silence him. When he spoke, his words were precise and short. "I don't understand why you're saying this, Cameron," he said.

"Isn't that what you're going to do, though?" He sunk back against the shelf behind him.

"Why would I do that?" Hayden's voice rose in confusion and he removed his hands from Cameron's shoulders.

"I'm gay!" Cameron exclaimed. Then he shut his eyes. "I just declared my sexual orientation to the library, didn't I?"

Hayden stifled a laugh. "I think you're safe. The only one in the library is Mrs. Booth, and I don't think she really gives a rat's ass if you like guys or not," he said and jerked a thumb behind him, to where the librarian sat at the front of the room, clicking away on a computer.

Cameron felt his heart stutter in his chest. "But what about you? Don't you care? Aren't you going to beat me up?"

Hayden stayed silent for a long minute, just standing there and rubbing his temples. Finally he said, "Sexual orientation does not matter here, Cameron. It doesn't matter if you're straight, gay, bi, or whatever."

"Really?" he said weakly.

"Absolutely. Four of the best singers in the Warblers a few years back were flat out gay, and no one cared," Hayden went on. "You're not the only one, okay? It's all good here."

A weight lifted from Cameron's shoulders and he broke into a tentative smile. "Okay. Okay, that's good. That's very good."

Hayden's face darkened. "Were you really that worried that someone here would beat you up?"

Cameron stayed silent.

"You don't have to worry about that. There's a strict no-bullying policy and everything. Dean Markus made sure that nothing like that would happen to his students," he said. "You're safe."

"I hope so," Cameron said, running a hand through his hair.

"You are," Hayden said adamantly.

A beat of silence skipped over them, and overhead, the air conditioner clicked on, creating a whirring noise.

"What are you doing in the back of the library?" Cameron finally questioned.

"Looking for you, actually," Hayden said shyly. "The rest of the guys—me, Roger, and Michael—were going to do a Doctor Who marathon, starting back with season one and the Ninth Doctor. Do you watch the Doctor?"

Cameron stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Doctor _what_?"

"You need education, my friend." Hayden swung an arm around his shoulders. "Allons-y!"

* * *

Cameron stared at the screen. "So let me get this straight. This Rose girl… she's working at a department store and then gets attacked by all these plastic mannequins that come to life. This random guy called the Doctor appears out of _nowhere_ and saves her, and they get attacked by this alien thing, and now she decides to leave her home, her mom, and her boyfriend to travel around the space-time continuum with the Doctor. In a blue phone box."

Roger stretched out on the floor with a pillow behind his head. "Basically."

"Well. Okay then." Cameron reached for another handful of popcorn. "Let's see the second episode. Surely if Rose is going leave her family to fly around in a phone box with a guy who calls himself the Doctor, they better go somewhere worth going."

"After we make another bowl of popcorn," Michael corrected, gesturing to the bowl. "Because _someone's _been eating it nonstop since we started." He directed his glare at Roger, who shrugged, embarrassed.

Michael got to his feet and started to reach for the plastic bowl, but Hayden stopped him.

"Cameron and I'll get it," he offered and took the bowl. He smiled cheerfully and looked over at Cameron. "Come on. We're going to Michael's room."

Clambering off the floor that was covered in layers of blankets and pillows, Cameron followed Hayden out the door and into the hallway.

They had decided to stage the Doctor Who marathon—"It's a Who-a-thon!" Roger had claimed when they were setting up earlier—in Roger's room, which was equipped with a projector that hung from the ceiling. The wall across from it was bare so as to play DVDs. With the curtains drawn and the lights off, it almost resembled a theater.

Hayden stopped one door from Roger's and went in, leaving the door open. Cameron followed hesitantly. He watched as the other boy dug through a cabinet underneath the desk in the corner, fish out a bag of microwave popcorn, then stick it in the microwave that sat right next to it on the floor.

"Who's room is this?" Cameron asked, staring at the world map that hung on the wall by the door.

"Michael's. He keeps a food stash under his desk, since we don't really use the kitchen properly, and he has a mini fridge and a microwave," he said. He waited. "Talk."

Cameron tore his eyes away from the map. "I'm sorry?"

"About today in the library," Hayden said, hitting a button. "You never told me who you were talking to on the phone."

Cameron swallowed thickly. "It's a long story."

He glanced at the time on the microwave. "Shoot. We've got a minute and twenty-three seconds."

"His name is Peter," Cameron began slowly, threading his fingers together. "He went to my old school, where we were both in choir. I was a tenor and he was a baritone, so we stood right next to each other in our setup. We got to talking, and one thing led to another." He shook his head.

Hayden drummed his fingers on the desk. "He sounds decent."

"He is, don't get me wrong," he said. He curled his toes inside his socks. "He is… really amazing, and everything was fine for a while."

"Then…?" Hayden waved a hand at him.

Cameron suddenly found the floor more fascinating than the map. "Then he started to cave when his friends suspected he was… on my team," he mumbled. "They really gave him a lot of crap for it, and the next week, he was dating some girl from the school across town."

"What a dick!" he protested. When Cameron winced, he said, "Sorry."

"No, it's sort of true." He wandered farther into the room and ran his fingers along the edge of Michael's spotless bureau. "He was being a dick. Apparently, his friends had convinced him to drop me and pick up a girlfriend. They wanted him to be normal."

The microwave beeped annoyingly, but Hayden made no move to open the door. "That's completely uncool."

"You know what's uncool?"

"What?"

Cameron covered his mouth. "The fact that you just said the word 'uncool.' Who says that?"

"Me," Hayden said with a cheesy grin. He stooped down to pull the steaming bag of popcorn from the microwave, then tore it open and emptied it into the bowl. "But seriously, Cam, he sounds like a complete jerk. Did he talk to you after that?"

He grew quiet. "Sort of. I was the one who actually made the move and said something, and we got into a fight and we were done by March," he said. "But then he supposedly dumped the girl he'd been dating and practically got on his knees and begged." He swallowed, hard.

"Please tell me you didn't forgive him." He stopped, with his hand stuck in the bowl.

"I did," Cameron said, "but you can't blame me. He was my first boyfriend, the first guy I'd ever liked, and he was the first guy who'd ever liked me _back_. You don't find too many people like that."

Hayden made an indifferent face. "I guess. But _still. _You don't forgive them right away. If they want to actually be in a relationship with you, they should have to work for it."

He shrugged. "I know, I know."

"So what happened after that?" he asked and emptied a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Cameron chewed the inside of his cheek. "We got back together for a few weeks and we lasted until school ended, and then a little bit into the summer. But it turned out that he hadn't actually dumped the girl he'd used as a cover, and I ended it."

"I'm glad you did. He's an idiot," he scoffed. He picked up the bowl of popcorn and brushed past him. "We should head back. They've probably started the second episode without us."

The two boys made the trip back to Roger's room to find Roger and Michael reading the backs of the Doctor Who DVD cases.

"Finally," Roger sighed loudly and tossed the case away, flat on his back, "we're famished. Give me some popcorn." He reached out his hands and flexed his fingers, like he was grabbing for something.

"Here you go." Hayden tipped the bowl over to spill some of the popcorn on Roger's face, then plopped down on the floor beside him. He took a handful for himself and chewed, satisfied.

Roger sat up and shook the kernels off his shirt, glowering. "I hate you sometimes. You know that?"

"Of course," Hayden replied with a smile. "Can we start watching again? Cameron needs to know what happens with the Doctor and Rose."

Michael raised the remote and aimed it at the projector. "If I've calculated correctly," he said, "we should get to the end of season one by about five."

"Five? In the morning?" Cameron said, shocked.

"Definitely," Roger said after he'd finished wiping the butter off his face. He flopped back onto a pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. "Because season one has about thirteen episodes."

Cameron sat back against the bed. "Then we better start watching, seeing as this is only the second episode."

Michael hit a button on the remote and started the next episode, but as soon as the opening credits began, there was a knock at the door. Hayden groaned and pressed a pillow against his face.

"At this rate," he mumbled, "we won't get _past _the second episode."

"Nose goes!" Roger shouted, startling Cameron. His hand whipped up to cover his nose, and the other boys did the same. Cameron glanced around worriedly, then covered his own nose, a little too late.

"Cameron gets the door!" Michael declared proudly. He reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

"We do 'Nose Goes' a lot," Hayden mentioned when Cameron stood. "It's a way of deciding things. You'll get used to it."

Cameron rolled his eyes and maneuvered his way to the door. When he opened it, he was stunned to see a boy on crutches waiting in the hallway. His hair was light brown, streaks of blonde running through it, and he seemed no taller than Cameron. He glanced up when the door opened and he blinked, a pair of thick black glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"Hello," he greeted, somewhat uncertainly. His voice carried hints of a foreign accent.

"Hi," Cameron said back and he glanced over his shoulder. As he did, Hayden came running up behind him and tackled the boy on the crutches. Cameron dropped his hand from the door and started to say something, but Roger and Michael both flew past him.

"Dude, you're back!" Hayden exclaimed pleasantly, ruffling the other boy's hair.

The boy laughed and ducked his head. "I know I'm back. Would you guys let up already? If you haven't noticed, I'm on crutches."

Roger stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. "Sorry, Louis. He's just excited to see you."

"We're _all _excited to see you," Michael corrected. "I guess the break wasn't that bad?"

The boy, Louis, said nothing, but stuck out one leg, which was covered from his ankle to his knee in a cast that nearly blended in with the navy material of his uniform slacks. He picked up one of his crutches and waved it in the air.

"If it wasn't that bad," he said, annoyed, "then I wouldn't be on these buggers, would I?"

"That's true," Hayden murmured and stepped back. "Well, come on. You're just in time for our Doctor Who-a-thon."

Louis' face brightened and his smile was bright. "Oh, wonderful. But please tell me you're not on the season finale of two," he said, carefully moving toward the door. "I think I might have to kill you if we're watching that."

"No way. I mean, we're going to watch it, of course, but we've got a newbie," Roger said as the boys headed into the room. "We're starting with season one for him."

"Really? Is that so?" Louis made his way through the doorway and looked up when he saw Cameron lingering by the bureau, reading the back of a Doctor Who DVD case. "Are you the newbie?"

Cameron perked and raised both eyebrows, setting the case down. "I guess I am."

He stuck his hand out pleasingly. "Louis Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Cameron Taylor. Likewise," he said and shook Louis' hand.

Louis gripped his crutches awkwardly and grimaced. "I hate these things. Hayden, give your brother hell for me."

"It seems like you're back to stay," Hayden said, sitting on the floor. His dark hair stuck up in the back. "Why don't you do it?"

"He's _your _brother, not mine."

Hayden waved a hand. "We'll do it tomorrow. Wait until you see the look on his face when you come waltzing back down the halls. Er—I guess you'd be limping, not waltzing," he said.

Louis carefully lowered himself onto the floor between Roger and Michael and set his crutches aside. "Oh, great. I hope he doesn't get into the habit of calling me 'cripple.'"

"He will," Roger said, without doubt.

Cameron cleared his throat slightly as he sat down and curled his legs under him. "What does Hayden's brother have anything to do with this?"

"He's the one who gave me this beauty," Louis said and he raised his leg, gesturing to it like a game show host. "We were having what seemed like a nice conversation between classes and he 'accidentally' pushed me down the stairs. Broke my leg in two places and this is the first time I've been back in a week."

Cameron nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"Well, come on," Louis said to fill the silence. "If we're going to watch the Doctor, we might as well get on with it," he said. Noting Cameron, he added, "And quickly. This boy looks about as lost as the Doctor in season three without Rose."

"Without Rose?" Cameron echoed wondrously. "Does that mean she leaves after season two?"

Hayden made a whimpering noise and chewed nervously on his thumb nail. He pushed Louis in the shoulder lightly. "I was doing just fine until you said that."

* * *

By one that morning, Cameron was barely awake, leaning against the side of the bed with a pillow in his lap. Louis was sprawled out in front of him on his side, positioned so that his cast wouldn't get in the way. Roger had his head by the popcorn bowl, his eyes shut and lightly snoring. Hayden was stretched across one of the beds, and Michael was dead asleep, the remote grasped in one hand.

Louis rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. Loudly he asked, "Anyone awake?"

Cameron flinched at his voice breaking the silence, but none of the boys stirred.

"I guess not," Louis said to the ceiling. He turned his head to the side to look at the windows, then saw Cameron. "Oh, you're awake."

"Yeah, I am. I'm trying to keep up with the episodes." He gestured to the screen, where the phone box was flying through space.

Louis snickered. "You're going to be an amazing Whovian. Do you like Rose?"

"She's alright," Cameron said, lifting his shoulders.

"Don't get attached to her. I highly advise it." He tucked his arms under his head.

"Does that have something to do with what you said earlier? Does she leave after season two?"

Louis hummed a tune under his breath. "Not saying it's for sure, but—"

"Then it's probably for sure."

He wrinkled his nose. "So, Cameron. You're new at Dalton, is that right? That's what I got from our introduction."

"I am," Cameron said. He sat up straighter, not really paying attention to the screen anymore; it was all just fighting aliens and space, anyway. "I just moved here a few days ago. From Texas."

"And how do you like it? Surely it's completely different from Texas," Louis asked curiously.

"It's alright. The temperature's cooler." Cameron picked at a loose thread that stuck out from the carpet. "And Dalton is nice. It's a lot different from the public school I went to, obviously. Boarding, and uniforms, and…" He faded.

Louis nodded with a small smile. "Yeah, it is pretty different."

Before he could continue, Cameron couldn't help but lean forward and ask, "Where are you from?"

"Pardon?" He pushed himself onto his elbows to squint at him.

"What country, I mean," he corrected himself. "Your accent is most definitely not American. I noticed when we met, and I was just wondering." He rubbed the back of his neck.

Louis chuckled, then leaned back. "Oh, I'm from England. Land of tea and crumpets."

"Oh. That makes sense," he murmured.

Suddenly a light flashed on Michael's bureau, followed by a low buzzing noise. Cameron jumped and Louis sat upright, craning his neck.

"That would be my phone," he said shyly. He glanced at Cameron. "Could you get that for me? I would do it, but now that I'm a cripple, my leg prevents it."

Cameron got up wordlessly and stepped over piles of pillows and Roger. He took the phone off the bureau and squinted at the brightness, handing it over to Louis before sitting down again.

As Louis delightedly took the call, the credits on the screen were rolling and it reverted back to the main menu. Cameron had the urge to change discs and start the next episode, but his body felt limp, his eyes heavy.

What seemed like minutes later, someone was shaking his shoulder and his eyes flew open. Louis was kneeled in front of him, phone in one hand, looking tired himself. Smiling, he sat back.

"You scared me for a moment," he said. "I was on the phone for twenty minutes and you fall asleep on me."

"I guess I'm just really tired," Cameron said through a yawn. He covered his mouth. "Who were you talking to? It's one in the morning, for crying out loud. Shouldn't people be asleep?"

Louis' face brightened, even in the darkness of the room. "Not over in England, they're not," he said tentatively. "That was my boyfriend. It's seven o'clock where he lives, and he just woke up."

Cameron, suddenly wide awake, blinked at him. "Your boyfriend?"

"Ah, yes." He bit his lip, trying to force back a smile. "Yes, I do swing that way, believe it or not."

"You have a boyfriend in England?" Cameron said with disbelief. He pulled a pillow into his lap. "How do you make that work? You're all the way in Ohio and he's on another continent. How can you…?"

Louis shifted, moving his leg to a more comfortable position. "It was quite difficult in the beginning, but we've gotten it to work for the past year or so. He comes to me on Christmas and Easter, and I go to him for Thanksgiving, spring break, and summer vacation," he explained. "It works."

"Wow," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I can't believe it works out. I mean, I'm sure you're both… but how can you trust each other to… you know, not go behind each other's backs?"

"We're happy with each other," Louis said simply. "Even though we can't be there for each other most of the time, we call often and he writes me letters, and I write back. He's not tempted by the other guys he meets, and neither am I."

Abruptly, a pillow soared through the air and crashed against the side of Louis' head. Louis looked dazed for half a second, then furious, throwing the pillow back in the direction it came.

"Hey!" he said, not bothering to keep his voice low. "I'm trying to have a conversation here!"

"And I'm trying to sleep!" Hayden shouted back. He lifted himself from the bed where he had been laying for the past few hours. "It's kind of hard to when you're going on about your foreign boyfriend."

"I thought you were watching the Doctor!" Louis said, jerking a thumb at the screen. "And so what if Oscar is foreign? We're both from England, so doesn't that make me foreign, too?"

Hayden made a face. "It's too early in the morning for common sense."

On the floor, Roger groaned and turned onto his back. He covered his face with his hands. "What are you all shouting about? It's still dark outside, so shut the hell up," he said thickly.

"I agree!" Hayden said loudly.

"That means you, too, Hayden."

Across the room, Michael sat up lazily. "I thought you guys were all asleep? What's going on?"

Louis shook his head, a grin spreading from ear to ear, and he turned to Cameron. "Looks like we've woken the pack. Brace yourself."

* * *

_In the next chapter: Cameron tests out his vocal cords, __develops a sassy mouth as a form of defense, and _adjusts to the insanity of Dalton.


	3. Baby Bird

Hello, readers.

First of all, thank you for those of you who took the time to read my input on Cory Monteith's tragic passing. Like most of you probably, I'm keeping up with the news on Cory's family, Lea, and how the Glee writers are going to continue the show without Cory.

I don't feel like talking about his passing too much, so here is the next installment of Boxing the Stars. Reviews would be lovely.

* * *

**Baby Bird**

* * *

By the middle of the second week, Cameron was settled into the room he shared with Hayden. Actually, he was settled in on the first day, but now, he felt more at home than he did earlier. His boxes were unpacked and everything was in a place in the room; his telescope claimed the corner by the window and his books blended in with Hayden's on the bookshelf.

In the mornings, he was used to hearing Roger's coffee machine sputter next door as he and Louis got ready for class, used to Hayden singing tastefully in the shower on days when he got it first, and used to Michael being out in the hallway, waiting for all four of them so they could walk to the school building together.

During the lunch hour, he sat with Roger, Michael, and Hayden, and he helped Louis get through the lunch line with his crutches. They claimed a small table in the corner of the dining hall, near the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the sports fields.

But the only thing Cameron did not look forward to every day was class. At his old school, he had itched to learn something, anything, but now, every morning when he woke up, he had half a mind to play sick.

His math class was the worst, by far—with Mr. Hayes going on and on about lesson after lesson in a drab voice that nearly put him to sleep, and with Tony rapping his pen against the side his desk every minute; he could hardly stand any of it.

Even though the class was awful, there were some days when Mr. Hayes would put the answers on the board, give the assignment, and remain at his desk until the bell rang. There were some days when Tony didn't show up, and the thought of where he could possibly be lingered in the back of Cameron's mind as he jotted down homework assignments.

But as soon as he left the math room, all thoughts of the class, and the people involved, vanished, disappearing when he moved on to his next class. A course in science took up his second period, and the art class he had taken because he needed a Fine Arts credit took up third. The final class of the day, the one he could actually stand, was astronomy.

Cameron had been surprised when he saw that Dalton presented a course in astronomy, but didn't question it. He had taken a class similar to it in the spring semester at his old school, though nothing compared to what Dalton had to offer.

During class, the lights were kept off and the curtains were drawn tightly over the windows; there was hardly any light to do much of anything. On the first day Cameron had arrived, he had reached over to flip on the lights when he came in, which made him look like a downright fool. The professor, Mr. Whitney, had scolded him and hastily shut the lights off, and some of the boys in the back of the room stifled laughter.

Now, two weeks into school, he was used to the darkness, and he was used to the stars that Mr. Whitney had stuck to the ceiling. They glowed bright green and were numerous, dotting the ceiling as if they were actual stars covering the actual night sky.

Then the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table burst to life, and Cameron rolled sluggishly out of bed to start the day.

* * *

"Don't use all the hot water, alright? I don't want to freeze to death," Hayden called over the sound of rushing water, banging his fist twice on the bathroom door.

Cameron pushed sopping hair from his eyes and grabbed the bar of soap from the holder. "Alright, alright. Calm down, I'll be out in a second," he shouted back.

"And I'm going to Roger's for a second to get coffee. What do you want in yours?"

"A lot of cream and sugar, please."

The door opened and shut faintly, and Hayden was gone.

There was a schedule worked out between them. In the mornings on Mondays and Wednesdays, Cameron called dibs on the shower first. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Hayden was first. On Friday, they flipped a coin to decide. Whoever wasn't in the middle of the first shower had the responsibility of fetching coffee that Roger and Louis brewed next door.

He scrubbed his skin raw with the soap, humming lightly under his breath. There were songs constantly bouncing back and forth in his head, even during the middle of the night or when he was trying to take a quiz during class. Softly, without realizing, he began to sing under his breath.

"_We wrote a prelude to our own fairy tale," _he sang as he wrenched the water off and grappled for a towel. "_And bought a parachute at a church rummage sale / And with a mean sewing machine and miles of thread / We sewed the day above L.A. / In navy and red."_

Hair dripping water onto his shoulders, Cameron stepped out of the shower with a beat in his step. His reflection showed pink skin, icy blue eyes, and damp blonde hair, which hung in sopping ringlets from his head.

"_We wound a race track through your mom's kitchen chairs," _he went on, running his fingers through knots in his hair. _"And fought the shadows back / Down your dark basement stairs / I lit a match, then let it catch to lighten up the room / And then you yelled as we beheld an old maroon hot air balloon."_

A smile appeared on his face and he snatched the undershirt that was folded on the vanity, throwing it over his head.

_I'll be out of my mind,_

_And you'll be out of ideas pretty soon, so let's spend,_

_The afternoon in a cold hot air balloon,_

_Leave your jacket behind,_

_Lean out and touch the treetops over town,_

_I can't wait to kiss the ground,_

_Whenever we touch back down_

Cameron slipped on a pair of boxers and hung the towel on the rack. He slid on the slick floor in front of the mirror and swiped a comb off the counter, running it through his hair. He hardly noticed as the bathroom door creaked open.

_We drank the Great Lakes like cold lemonade,_

_And both got stomach aches,_

_Sprawled out in the shade,_

_So bored to death, you held your breath,_

_And I tried not to yawn,_

_You made my frown turn upside down,_

_And now my worries are gone_

As he took a breath, pausing between stanzas, a voice cut him off and he sprung a foot in the air.

"Holy crap!" Hayden was leaning against the open door, two mugs of coffee in his hands and his jaw dropped. Louis and Michael and Roger were right behind him with the same expression on their faces.

Louis waved one hand at Cameron and he almost toppled over on his crutches, but Michael caught him by the shoulder and kept him upright. "Keep going, keep going! That was so good!"

Cameron tightened his grip on his brush and held it to his chest, his heart hammering. He was too stunned to say much of anything.

"I guess we should have waited until you were finished," Michael said, disappointed. He gripped the door. "But wow, Cameron! We had no idea you could sing like that!"

"Um…" Cameron licked his lips and slowly peeled his fingers from the brush handle.

Louis chuckled. "Aw, stage fright?"

"Let's just say I'm not used to having a bathroom performance in my underwear," he mumbled, flustered, and took one of the mugs from Hayden. He downed a mouthful, despite the fact that it scorched his throat.

"You could be stark naked and I don't think anyone would notice," Hayden said. He received an array of odd glances. "Because of your voice. It's like the angels decided to bless a human being with their voices."

Cameron wrinkled his nose and he covered his torso with a towel. "I don't sound _that _good."

"You absolutely do," protested Louis.

"It's the acoustics of the bathroom. Everything sounds better in a bathroom."

"You're unnaturally talented," Roger said.

"I've just practiced a lot."

Hayden's eyes lit up. "You should join the Warblers."

Cameron nearly choked on his next sip of coffee. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What?"

"Of course! Why didn't we think of that before?" Louis exclaimed and he hit Hayden excitedly in the shoulder.

Hayden rubbed his arm soothingly. "We did. Well, at least I did, anyway," he said. "The moment Cameron said something about him being in the choir at his old school, I suggested that he auditioned." He glared at Cameron. "I've suggested it several times, as a matter of fact."

Cameron raised his hands over his head in surrender and started combing through his curls with his fingers. "Well, I apologize for not taking your suggestion into consideration. I just moved here, if you haven't realized, and I sort of wanted to get situated before I got head over heels into anything major."

On the mirror, steam had started to collect and Cameron leaned forward to rub it away with one hand. When there was no loud reply from any of the boys, he turned around. "What?"

"_Now _are you settled in enough?" Hayden asked, an aloof grin on his face.

Cameron dropped his head and let out a short laugh. "I'll think about it."

"Yes!" he cheered and struck the air with his fist. "Lovett is going to love you, Cameron. Just wait until she hears you."

"She is going to flip," Louis agreed with a smile of his own.

Cameron took another sip of coffee and set the mug down. "One condition, though."

All of the boys' faces dropped.

"What? What more could you possibly need?" Hayden asked desperately.

"Can you let me get dressed? I know we're all guys and everything, but I sort of feel self-conscious standing around in my underwear."

* * *

Cameron ducked his head in his hands, ignoring the lunch that sat in front of him. "Oh, no."

"This is awful," Hayden agreed. He chewed on a celery stick. "Nate is going to throw a fit when he sees him."

"Why are we letting him do this again?" Michael asked, threading his fingers together anxiously.

Roger shook his head and stirred his bowl of soup. "Because he has a death wish, that's why."

The lunch hour had arrived to everyone's relief, except Cameron's. Hayden was still going on about Cameron's concert in the bathroom to the others, and Cameron felt his ears burn. Even during first period, he knew Hayden was gabbing away to someone he didn't even know, and Tony had said something about it.

"You look like you just washed off red paint," he whispered, not paying attention to Mr. Hayes' lecture over the lesson.

"What?" he hissed back. He didn't turn around for fear of getting called out for it, and he doodled on the corner of his worksheet.

Tony snickered. "You're all red. Either you fell into a vat of red paint, or something socially awkward happened."

"No comment," Cameron growled.

"I'll take that as 'something socially awkward happened.'"

Now, Cameron played with the cap on his water bottle, screwing it on and off. His lunch didn't look as appetizing as it had earlier. He set down the bottle finally and sat on his fidgety hands, casting a look over his shoulder.

The dining hall was filled halfway with the boys who had the first lunch. Hayden, Louis, Michael, and Roger all had choir third period, and Cameron had his art class, and both courses were marked down as having the first lunch of the day.

Cameron squinted through the mess of navy and red and tried to keep his eyes on Louis, who was hobbling between tables on his crutches. Watching him stumble and bump against someone's chair, it was easy to say that he wasn't used to walking with one leg in a cast.

"Is he going to get hurt?" Cameron said to Hayden quietly.

"Knowing Nate," he sighed, "something's going to get broken, and I hope it's not Louis' other leg."

Cameron swallowed thickly.

"I really want to go get him right now," Roger said impatiently. For the last minute or so, he had been curling his hand around the edge of his tray. He looked to the others. "He can hardly balance on crutches by himself. What makes him think he can go after Nate?"

"He's very confident," Michael said uncertainly.

"He's too confident, that's what he is."

"Well, no one's going to stop him, it seems," Hayden chimed in.

Michael stared pointedly at him from across the table. "You could stop him. You could stop Nate, at least. He's your brother."

Hayden rolled his eyes, not saying anything.

A crash on the other side of the dining hall caught their attentions, and Roger actually got to his feet. Five or six tables over, Louis was struggling to stay steady on his crutches and his glasses were slipping down his nose, but his grin was unwavering. He stood in front of one of the North tables, where Nate, Tony, and a few others were seated.

"Long time, no see, eh, Nathaniel?" he said insolently.

Nate, broad-shouldered and with sandy hair, rose from his chair. Even though the low lighting in the room dulled in sharp features, he still struck as somewhat daunting. "When'd you get back, Watson?"

"Oh, no. And thus, it begins," Hayden murmured into his hand, sinking deeper into his chair.

"Just a little while ago," Louis replied, chipper. "Why, haven't you seen me around?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "Go back to your table, cripple. We don't want you to get anymore hurt than you already are."

"Ooh, cripple. Like I haven't gotten that one already." Louis glanced over his shoulder and winked at Cameron and the others, giving them a small thumbs up.

"Louis," Tony said quietly from his seat, "go sit back down. You shouldn't be on your feet."

Nate nodded and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Listen to him. Why don't you take a seat?"

"Aren't you going to apologize?" Louis snapped, all of a sudden. His hands tightened on his crutches. Several heads in the dining hall turned to look, and Hayden sat up straight in his seat.

"For what?" Nate leaned casually against the back of his chair, but his jaw was set.

"For pushing me down the stairs. That's what, you berk."

Nate narrowed his eyes. "What did you just call me?"

At the same time Tony rose from his chair, Cameron and Hayden did from theirs. Hayden started across the room swiftly, Cameron following behind him, and Roger and Michael scrambled to get up, as well.

Tony gripped Nate's arm forcefully. "Nate, sit down. Just drop it."

"I'm not dropping anything," Nate said snippily and jerked his arm away.

Louis tapped one crutch against the floor with a sly grin. "So, are you going to apologize to me, or what? Because lunch ends in about twenty minutes, and I want you to have actually accomplished something today."

His gaze like the edge of a blade, Nate stepped forward and opened his mouth to bark something, but Louis swung out one of his crutches and swept Nate off his feet. He landed on his side, which aroused murmuring from other tables.

Hayden skidded to a stop, Cameron and the others behind him. Hayden's mouth was open in shock and he looked too astonished to move a muscle.

"Louis," Tony snapped, getting to his feet. The lighting made his green hair look outlandish, Cameron thought, almost glowing. His bangs swept down to brush just below his eyebrows.

Shoving his glasses up his nose, Louis smiled innocently. "What?"

Nate rolled to his knees and lunged forward at Louis' ankles, but Louis easily side-stepped him and planted the end of a crutch between his shoulder blades. Louis leaned a little of his weight on it and merely smiled at the North Precursor.

Wearing a scowl, Tony easily picked the crutch off Nate's shoulders and yanked Nate to his feet by the back of his blazer. He reached out and plucked Louis by his tie and yanked them both close.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and malicious, "stop. Right now. I don't want to have to call Markus about something _this _childish."

"Oh, I'm so scared. Because getting in trouble with the Dean is the worst thing that could happen to me," Nate mocked.

Tony tightened his grip on his blazer. "It is, actually. Do you want to be expelled?"

"Yeah, Nathaniel," Louis echoed, "do you want to be expelled?"

"Do you want to be expelled, too?" Tony shot at Louis. "You just got back, and I can't imagine you wanting to leave again."

Louis raised his shoulders to his ears and made a face. He stuck his tongue out at Nate, and Nate started forward, but stopped with Tony's grip on his blazer. Tony let out an exasperated sigh and looked over the two boys at Michael, nodding.

"Alright, come on. You're both going to see Markus," he announced and started to drag them away from the table, toward the doors.

"What?" Louis shrieked, his crutches flailing. "I did nothing wrong! If anything, this bloke should be getting the punishment! He _did _push me down the stairs, after all. How else would I have ended up with this?" He weakly lifted the leg that was in a cast.

Nate snarled, "Shut up, Watson! Stop complaining or your leg won't be the only thing that's broken!"

"Both of you need to pipe down!" Tony ordered, voice raising. He led them to the doors, then barked over his shoulder, "Michael, come on. Markus will probably want to talk to you about this one." He thwapped Louis on the back of the head.

Michael glanced back at the others, then hurried off after them.

"Wow," Hayden said flatly after they had gone. He ran a hand through his hair. "I've never seen Louis so mad before. Usually he just gets a little red in the face and cusses everyone out, but he was actually kind of scary for once."

Roger nodded. "And now that he's got crutches, he's pretty much invincible. I mean, did you see the way he took down Nate?"

"How much trouble are they going to get in?" Cameron asked, still staring at the doors.

Hayden started walking back to the table. "Not that much. In the beginning, Markus will probably freak out and have the idea of assigning them to military school, but the punishment usually whittles down to just a detention or kitchen duty."

"There's kitchen duty here?" Cameron asked, taking a seat. He pushed his tray away from him, his appetite suppressed.

"Of course there is," Roger said. "A couple years ago, before Hayden and I were here, there were these two guys that always got in trouble. Like, _always. _They would cut electricity wires and sabotage the Warblers—once they even fell through the ceiling of the choir room and class was moved to the auditorium. So they'd always get detention or kitchen duty, and once they were suspended."

Cameron picked at his lower lip. "Wow. They sound awful."

Hayden nodded. "At least I never actually had the chance to meet them. I heard they wrapped a transfer in toilet paper once."

Cameron paused with an eyebrow raised.

"You don't have to worry," Roger said and bumped him in the shoulder. "Pranks on the transfers don't start until they've been here for two weeks, tops."

* * *

Usually, Cameron took some pleasure in seeing Hayden after the final bell had rung. They made a habit of meeting at the base of the staircase every day; with Cameron's astronomy class on the second floor right next to the stairs, he was typically the one waiting for Hayden.

But now, as he saw Hayden dodge through the crowd, an anxious grin smeared on his face, a bad feeling crept up the back of Cameron's neck.

"What are you so smiley about?" he asked as Hayden walked up to him. Actually, 'walked' was an understatement—he practically _hopped; _there was a certain skip in his step that matched his smile. Cameron swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Nothing," Hayden said in a sing-song voice, sounding like a twelve-year-old girl.

Cameron did not smile. "What is wrong with you? You look like you're high, or something."

"I'm not high," he said, taken aback. "I'm merely excited."

"For what? Are we going to watch the finale of the second season of Doctor Who?" Cameron asked wondrously, stepping back to avoid getting bumped into. "Is that why you're so happy?"

Hayden slapped a hand on his chest. His voice was low. "If we were going to watch the finale of season two, I don't think I'd be very excited. The first time I saw it, I bawled for days and I couldn't watch season three."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Okay, maybe now we're going to have to watch it, just so you know how bad it is."

Cameron sighed and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "So, why are you so excited? You haven't really explained that to me."

His face lighting up, the smile returned. "I may have talked to Ms. Lovett during Warblers class and she might let you audition!" He punched Cameron lightly in the shoulder. "How cool is that?"

"Audition?" The word came from his lips like a curse. "Ow!" he said, late, and rubbed his shoulder. "What do you mean, audition?"

"Remember this morning? Your impromptu concert in your underwear—"

"Shut up! I don't want everyone to know about that. It's kind of embarrassing."

Hayden rolled his eyes. "It's not embarrassing at all if you've got a killer voice. And dude, you have got a killer voice."

Cameron shifted his bag on his shoulder and put his face in his hands. "But what's this about an audition?"

"You said you'd consider trying out for the Warblers!" he reminded him. "Remember?"

"How could I forget? You asked me a million times the day I got here, and it's only skyrocketed since," Cameron mumbled. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hayden's shoulders dropped and his cheerful expression deflated. "Please tell me you aren't going to back out now. You're so good, Cameron, and the Warblers need someone like you."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it," he said finally, with some irritation. "Just stop guilt tripping me about it, alright? I have a weak conscious."

"Alright!" Hayden cheered. He stretched to the tips of his toes to look over the small crowd of boys. He nudged Cameron in the ribs. "Okay, Lovett's over in the doorway. Are you ready?" Then he waved his arms over his head and shouted, "Hey, Ms. Lovett! I've got the fresh meat I told you about!"

"What?" Cameron hissed, one hand cradling his side. He reached out to stop Hayden from racing across the hall, but barely grasped his sleeve. He let out a tired groan and hurried after him, weaving through bodies and muttering apologies.

Ms. Lovett was poised in the doorway of the choir room, her bouncy dark hair resting on her shoulders. She was flipping through a pile of music books in her arms, but she stopped and lifted her head. When she saw Hayden approach her, she broke into a grin.

"Really? Is that so?" she asked in a voice like wind chimes. Her eyes danced to Cameron as he approached. "Is this him?"

Hayden slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "Absolutely. Mr. Cameron Taylor, in the flesh. He said he sung in the choir at his old school. Quite a pro, actually."

"Hayden, shut up," Cameron snapped, his face hot. To Ms. Lovett, he said, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know what's gotten into Hayden. He's just being crazy—"

"I'm not crazy," he protested. "You can sing, can't you? That's what you told me."

Cameron stepped away from him. "Yes, that's what I told you, but—"

"And you _said _you would consider joining the Warblers. You said multiple times, actually."

"Yes, I did say that, but—"

Hayden clapped his hands together. "Then what do you think?"

"Yes, I'll audition, but—"

"Fabulous!" Ms. Lovett chimed in, looking between both boys. She straightened the papers and books in her arms.

Cameron covered his face and let out a long sigh. He ran his hand through his hair and looked to the director. "But I'm not that good of a singer, ma'am. I hardly scraped by at my old school," he lied. In his old choir, he was the one who got the solos, the one the director used as an example often, things he reveled in. "I don't think I'm cut out for the Warblers."

"Oh, nonsense," she dismissed easily and she wrinkled her nose. "Go ahead, sing something for me."

"Right here? _Now_?" He whipped his head around, taking in the sight of everyone milling around him. "It's right after school, and everyone will be able to hear me, ma'am."

Ms. Lovett shrugged nonchalantly. "Bull. If you're up on stage, everyone can hear you. What's the difference?"

Cameron blinked at her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hayden try to hide a grin. "But I don't have anything prepared."

"Mr. Taylor, I honestly don't care if you sing your ABC's, just as long as you sing something." She drummed her long nails on her books.

"Can't I have a day to prepare?"

Hayden snorted, then covered his mouth. "Dude, you don't prepare for Warblers auditions. You just sing. That's how it works."

Cameron sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day and he placed one hand on his hip, biting his lip. He looked up at Ms. Lovett from under his lashes. "Can I at least have a few minutes to figure out what song I'm going to sing?"

"I suppose," she said teasingly. "Come get me when you've taken your 'few minutes' and you're ready." She turned on her heel and waltzed into the choir room.

As soon as she vanished, Cameron turned on Hayden, pointing a finger at him. "I can't _believe _you."

"What? You said you would join," he said in defense.

"Yes, I did," he said patiently, "but I imagined a private audition with scales and an excerpt from a song, not this… randomness. I seriously have to sing a song of my choice and that determines whether I get in or not?"

Hayden dropped his shoulders. "Yeah, but I wouldn't worry. She's going to let you in because, frankly, we need you in order to compete in Sectionals since there's a twelve person minimum, and we have eleven right now. We're a little desperate," he said sheepishly. "Of course, we're glad to have you, but you'd be a big help to start."

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Just give me a minute to figure out what the heck I'm singing…"

For the next handful of minutes, Cameron paced back and forth in front of the choir room doors, scrolling through the music collection on his phone for a song he could imagine himself singing. He'd sung most of them out of boredom or even in the shower, including the one he had sung that morning in front of Hayden and the others, but now he couldn't seem to remember the lyrics to any of them to save his life.

Finally, he came to a song. He tucked his phone away and faced Hayden, who was leaning against the wall.

"You ready?" he asked eagerly. "It's about time. I thought you were going to run a rut in the floor with all that pacing."

Cameron ignored him and gently rapped his knuckles on the choir room door. Before he had the chance to lower his hand, the door swung open and Lovett stood on the other side. She held a clipboard in her arms and a pen covered in rhinestones in one hand.

"Ready, Mr. Taylor?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, ma'am," he stuttered out in reply. Already the back of his neck was beginning to feel hot. He took a step back when she stepped forward into the hallway.

She closed the door behind her and clasped her hands in front of her. "You may begin whenever you're ready."

Cameron blinked and his heart dropped into his stomach. "Aren't we going into the choir room? You know, for more privacy?" he asked. The buzz of voices around him suddenly grew to a steady hum in his ears.

"Why would we? This hallway has very lovely acoustics," she said dreamily with a sweet smile. She waved a ring-garnished hand at him. "Go ahead. It's all a part of the experience."

"What experience?"

"The performing experience, of course!" she said. "If you're going to get up on stage some day and sing your heart out, it would help to not have an immense case of stage fright, now wouldn't it?"

"Alright." Cameron took another step back, his back to the hallway behind him, and he caught Hayden's eye. When he narrowed his eyes, Hayden flashed him two thumbs-up and winked.

When he began to sing, he could hardly hear his own voice. Instead, he was more concentrated on the bustle behind him, focusing more on little snippets of conversations.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad,_

_Take a sad song and make it better,_

_Remember to let her into your heart,_

_Then you can start to make it better_

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid,_

_You were made to go out and get her,_

_The minute you let her under your skin,_

_Then you begin to make it better_

Around him, voices dropped significantly and boys who were passing stopped to watch. A small crowd had formed on the stairs, leaning against the railing. Cameron only tried to focus on hearing his own voice, not his growing audience.

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders,_

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool,_

_By making his world a little colder,_

_Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na_

_Hey Jude, don't let me down,_

_You have found her, no go and get her,_

_Remember to let her into your heart,_

_Then you can start to make it better_

Hayden bounced on his feet as he watched Cameron sing. With one glance, he knew the entire hallway had stopped and all the boys were all holding their breaths. Up on the landing, Hayden spotted Louis and Michael, Roger right behind them. Louis was practically leaning over the railing to get a good look at Cameron, while Roger and Michael were busy trying to keep him from falling.

They caught Hayden's eye and Hayden grinned.

_So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,_

_You're waiting for someone to perform with,_

_And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,_

_The movement you need is on your shoulder_

Cameron paused to take a breath and in the brief moment, he heard silence. He saw Hayden grinning madly beside Ms. Lovett, who was smiling pleasantly, her eyes alight. The last lyrics rolled off his tongue easily and then his head was spinning.

Suddenly a hand clapped on his shoulder, a small round of applause breaking out around him. Startled he glanced around, only to find masses of boys crowding the hallway and piled onto the staircase. In the midst of the group on the stairs, he saw a head of dark green hair, making its way to the base of the stairs.

"You did—that was—" Hayden's hand tightened on his shoulder and his jaw was dropped. "Cam, you singing in the bathroom this morning was amazing, but what you just sang was _incredible_!"

Cameron swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, but his throat was too tight to speak. He merely blinked and tried to smile.

"Wonderful, Mr. Taylor," Ms. Lovett said softly, approaching them. She looked genuinely touched. "In all my years of teaching, I don't think anyone's covered that song so beautifully. Your voice is stupendous."

"Thank you, ma'am," Cameron finally stammered out. Hayden's arm felt like a led weight on his shoulder, wearing him down; his knees felt weak. He vaguely noticed that the hallway was emptying, only a handful of boys were left. Louis was still leaning over the railing, and Roger's jaw was dropped.

Louis broke away from the railing, steadied himself on his crutches, and took the stairs two at a time, in a hurry to get to where Hayden and Cameron stood. Michael raced after him to help him, Roger close behind.

Lovett raised her hand to brush hair away from her face and the rings on her fingers clinked together. "I think that was one heck of an audition."

Cameron's heart skipped. "I'm sorry, but may I have a do-over? Is that too much to ask?"

"A do-over?" Hayden echoed. "Cameron, you just kicked John Lennon and Paul McCartney in the ass. Why do you want a do-over?" When Louis hobbled up to them, he repeated, "Cameron wants a do-over audition! Can you believe that?"

Louis blinked, stunned, and he leaned around Hayden to peer at him. "Seriously? You just knocked that one out of the park, and you want another try?"

"It… it wasn't my best," Cameron stammered out, threading his fingers together. He looked to Ms. Lovett sheepishly. "If that's alright with you, of course, ma'am. I mean, I wasn't prepared, and—"

Lovett held up a hand. "Say no more, Mr. Taylor. But really, why do you want a redo when you're already in?"

"I'm _in_?"

Hayden yanked on his sleeve. "Dude, you're in!"

Cameron took in a deep breath. "Oh, wow. I'm in."

"Unless you'd like to be out—" Lovett said with the confused wrinkle of her nose.

"No!" all the boys said in unison. Cameron, smiling, continued with, "No, I don't think that will be necessary."

Ms. Lovett looked at them all and smiled. "Well, then I guess you'll have to meet with the counselor to change your schedule. The Warblers meet during third period. Welcome, Mr. Taylor." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked into the choir room. Before she shut the doors, she added, "Oh, and come by during the dinner hour to pick up your music folio. I'll have it ready by then."

Cameron let out a long breath and placed a hand on his hip. Dizzy, he glanced up at the other boys. Hayden was bouncing on his feet, looking like the result of a sugar high, and Louis was so thrilled, he almost knocked himself off his crutches. Roger and Michael clapped him on the back.

"Well, you're in," Roger concluded contently. "I hope you survive the semester."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cameron glared at him.

Hayden hit him in the shoulder. "Stop scaring him like that, Roger. He's just a baby bird, and baby birds don't need scaring. They need nurturing and guidance, and—"

"Please tell me you're not going to regurgitate food and dump it down my throat in an attempt to feed me," Cameron interrupted with a scowl. "Because that would be extremely unpleasant."

Louis burst into a fit of hysterical laughter and he stopped when Hayden sighed loudly.

"No, I'm not going to feed you," he said, "unless you want me to, of course."

"I think I'll pass on that," Cameron said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I'll definitely pass."

* * *

"I really should invent some sort of tray that can strap to my waist to carry my things for me. That would be swell, wouldn't it?" Louis asked as he and Cameron filed through the dinner line later that evening.

Cameron shrugged and filled a bowl with salad. "I don't know how that would work, really."

"Well, you would have this strap, see, and it would wrap around your waist—and put some cheese on my salad for me, not the yellow kind—and there would be some kind of bar that extended from said strap," Louis said, completely captivated by his idea, "and then it would be sturdy enough to hold a large tray up. I think it would work."

"You'll have to try it sometime." He took Louis' tray and slid it down the counter.

"Eh, we'll see," Louis said. "I'm not going to be on these things much longer. In a few weeks, I can get rid of these and get a boot. I'd almost rather use crutches rather than wear a bloody boot. Those things are hideous."

Cameron glanced at him with a small smile. "Fashion forward, I see."

"Of course." He smiled brightly.

"So what happened with you and Nate?" he asked as he grabbed two bottles of water from a small fridge. He balanced their trays in his hands and they slowly weaved through the dining hall.

Louis made an impatient noise. "Nothing major. Me and Nate just got screamed at a lot by Markus, and then Nate got two weeks of detention for shoving me down the stairs," he said, extremely pleased.

"Did you get anything?" He nodded to the others as they approached the table, and pulled out one of the chairs for Louis.

"Just a week of detention. I scraped by," he answered gleefully and pulled his tray toward him. "Thank you."

Cameron sat down and twirled his fork between his fingers. "Why did Nate push you down the stairs, anyway? That's kind of a brutal thing to do."

Hayden leaned across the table, hands braced on it. "We all think my brother's secretly hiding in the closet and that he has a thing for Louis," he snickered. "I mean, in elementary school, if someone teased you or pushed you around, didn't it mean they liked you?"

"You're nasty," Louis said and flicked a leaf of salad at him.

"And besides," Roger added, setting down his spoon, "Louis has already captured the heart of another boy." He clasped his hands together and sighed dreamily.

Louis turned scarlet and rolled his eyes uncomfortably. "You all are a bunch of pricks, you know that?"

"But you love us anyway," Michael said.

"Speaking of your boyfriend," Hayden said, "when do you see Oscar again? Thanksgiving?"

Louis stabbed at his salad, not taking a bite of it. "Yes. I catch a flight to go see him for a week. Why, do you want me to stay with him and never come back, is that it?"

"No, all we want you to do is bring us back postcards," Michael said. He pointed his fork at him. "Because the last set of postcards you got when you were there was amazing. I still have it."

"Of course you do, Michael. Your postcard collection is huge," Hayden mentioned.

"He has three photo albums of them stacked on our desk," Louis added. "Had to shove them aside the other day to do my classwork."

Michael sneered at him and continued eating.

The dinner hour went by slowly, and Cameron keeping his eyes on the clock above the doors didn't make things go by any quicker. He barely listened to what the others were saying, only catching snippets when Hayden offered to throw Louis' trash away for him.

"Why?" Louis questioned as Hayden left the table. "Afraid I'll outwit your brother again, are you?"

"I'm only afraid of what he'll do to you if he gets his hands on you," Hayden mumbled. "You know he bench presses, like, one-fifty, right?"

Cameron pushed away from the table. "Well, this has all been fun, but I'm going to find Lovett and get the music folio she said she had for me," he said, sweeping his tray off the table.

"Oh, you're going to have fun with the music," Michael said. "Lovett likes to pick cheesy, old tunes that no one ever listens to anymore. But sometimes, she'll save us from our misery and choose something from this century."

Roger nodded, elated. "Remember last year at Sectionals? She made us sing MC Hammer. There was no way we were getting past Sectionals with that one."

Louis groaned and put his head on the table. "Don't remind of that. We hardly made it through the first song. I swear, I heard some people booing us off the stage."

"Lesson learned," Hayden concluded. "Never sing MC Hammer _again_."

* * *

After a few minutes of navigating the hallways, Cameron turned up in front of the choir room, and he knocked, then peeked his head in. Ms. Lovett was sitting behind a wide desk on one side of the room, in front of a tall bookshelf. She smiled when he walked in.

"Mr. Taylor," she greeted, standing up. "How are you?"

"Fine, ma'am," he answered, somewhat shocked. His choir director at his old school used to greet her students, but not in a way Ms. Lovett did. Lovett smiled like she actually meant it.

"I suppose you're here to get your music, aren't you?" she mused. She sat back down and rummaged through a desk drawer before turning up with a thin folder with his name marked on the top. She extended it to him. "Here you are, dear."

As Cameron flipped through it, he caught names of artists, varying from The Police to Michael Jackson. He looked up at her without raising his head.

"Now, most of these songs are pending," she explained. "I haven't really decided what we're going to be singing for Sectionals this year, but it has to be good—good enough to get us to Regionals, at least." She rubbed her temples. "I'm sure you've heard from Mr. Piper that the Warblers haven't made it past Sectionals for the past three years."

Cameron furrowed his brow, not used to hearing Hayden's last name. He shook his head. "No, I don't think he's mentioned it."

Lovett leaned back in her chair. "Ah, well, I wouldn't expect him to, I suppose. It's nothing to brag about," she sighed. "I remember, about four years ago, we got all the way to Nationals. It had been a big deal, of course, and we pulled out eleventh place, which wasn't terrible. The year before that we'd also miraculously made it to Nationals, but we got eleventh place." Her lips formed a thin line.

"At least you made it to Nationals," Cameron murmured. He leaned against the side of the desk, smiling a little when he came across an Owl City song in the folder.

"Yes, but that was when we had the best singers we'd ever had in the history of the Warblers." Lovett sat up and dug through another drawer. "I know this seems silly of me, keeping something like this, but I do." She pulled out a thick, manila folder that looked well worn, with small tears and rips. "This is the file of one of the top soloists that year. Kurt Hummel."

Cameron pushed away from the desk. "Really."

"Absolutely," she said with a trill of excitement in her voice. She picked up a disc in a case and held it up. "I took the liberty and decided to record some of his better performances. It was as if he was born to do nothing else in his life other than sing." Her eyes slid from the disc to Cameron. "Mr. Taylor, may I be frank with you?"

His heart plummeted into his stomach, but he nodded. "Sure."

"You seem like a very promising performer, Mr. Taylor. Today's audition was enough to tell me that," she said and leaned her elbows against the desk. "You also seem to have a large range, like Mr. Hummel did. At your previous school, how often did you sing?"

"Solo or in a group?" he asked. Immediately he wracked his brain, going through all the tunes he had sung back in Texas.

"Either," she said easily. "Actually, solo."

Cameron smoothed his tongue across the front of his teeth. "I'd say pretty often. I mean, my director had me warm up the group before class, and I usually led when we performed group things. Why?"

Lovett's eyes glinted. She held out the disc. "I would like you to listen to this. It's a few tracks of Mr. Hummel from his junior and senior years here. He was the one who led us to third place at Nationals. That was his senior year," she said as he took it. "He was a wonderful singer, and I think you could learn a few things from him to become better."

The disc felt like a weight in his hand and he almost dropped it. "Really?"

"Of course! I mean, why not?" she said, chipper. "Now, when you listen to this, there are some songs where Mr. Hummel goes sky high with his range. When I first heard him sing, I was blown away. Obviously, you don't have to strive to sing that high, but he is a wonderful example of what a good singer sounds like. His range is absolutely incredible."

Cameron nodded and placed the disc inside his folio. "Okay."

Lovett sat back and brushed a tangle of curls from her face. "I hope you enjoy your time with the Warblers, Mr. Taylor. And be sure to look over the music," she added.

"I will. Thank you." Tucking the folder to his chest, he left the choir room, feeling the weight in his stomach subside.

Through the glass doors, the sun was slipping below the horizon, smearing the sky with shades of pink, orange, and yellow. Cameron leaned against one of the doors to step outside and cool air struck him, crisp and sweet.

Before taking another step, he stared at the folio in his hands. He was really in the Warblers, and Lovett had really given him a disc of one of the greatest students she had ever taught. Cameron chewed his lip happily and was about to start the few minutes' walk back to East when he heard a faint strain of music.

His eyes scanned around, but found nothing. Suddenly the music stopped, then started up again, sounding sweet and harmonious. Cameron's ears perked and he glanced to his right, staring at the winding path that led around the side of the school. The thick brush of tree branches peeked from the side of the building, and Cameron started down the path.

With each step, the music grew louder, and it sounded like a guitar with someone murmuring lyrics with it. His grip absently tightened on his folder and when he reached the corner of the building, he came upon a small garden.

The tree that he had seen was tall, with vast branches that spread out, covered in orange leaves. A small barrier of stepping stones surrounded the tree and made a circle. Leaves dropped down with the blow of the breeze and they scattered onto a concrete bench that sat at the base of the tree.

Cameron took a step back, bumping into the corner of the building, when he saw Tony, the boy who'd shot a dart at him, sitting cross-legged on the bench, with a guitar fitted in his hands. His eyes were shut and outside, away from the fluorescent lighting, his unnatural green hair looked more vibrant. It was him singing, and his voice was low and had a captivating ring to it.

_And they say she's in the Class A Team,_

_Stuck in her daydream, been this way since eighteen,_

_But lately her face seems slowly sinking, wasting,_

_Crumbling like pastries, and they scream,_

_The worst things in life come free to us,_

'_Cause we're just under the upper hand,_

_And go mad for a couple grams_

The brief thought that he should leave crossed his mind, but he stayed frozen where he stood, unable to move. He didn't want to make a move to leave and end up getting caught; the music folio and CD were clutched to his chest.

_And she don't wanna go outside tonight,_

_And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland,_

_Or sells love to another man,_

_It's too cold outside for angels,_

_An angel will die, covered in white, closed eye,_

_And hoping for a better life_

The breath Cameron had been holding in his chest left, his lungs deflating as he let out a sigh. He leaned his weight against the building and he was unable to tear his eyes away from Tony, whose eyes were still shut. His body swayed faintly with the beat.

Cameron stayed in this position, his back digging against the bricks and one of the corners of the disc case pressing into his palm, and he dared not to say a word until the last stanza left Tony's lips.

_It's too cold outside for angels to fly,_

_Angels to fly,_

_To fly, fly,_

_For angels to fly, to fly, to fly,_

_For angels to die_

Keeping his head down, Tony let his hand loosen around the neck of the guitar and rested the other on the curve.

"Was that Ed Sheeran?" Cameron blurted, tired of the silence ringing in his ears. He wanted to hear more music, more of Tony's voice.

Tony whipped his head up, startled, and his eyes were wide. In this light, Cameron saw that they split into an array of browns, warm and molten. For a moment, he seemed too dazed at Cameron's appearance to say anything.

"Yeah, that was," he said finally. He licked his lips. "You know who that is?"

"I do. His music is good," Cameron replied stiffly.

"What are you doing out here?" Tony questioned defensively.

Cameron pushed away from the building and his eyes fixed on the ground. "I went to get my music folio from Ms. Lovett, and I just heard you playing when I was going back to the dorms," he explained, but all the words blurred together near the end.

Tony nodded and he set the guitar carefully on the bench beside him. Cameron thought he was going to say something about him listening in on him play, but he only said, "That's right. You got into the Warblers, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did." Cameron curled his toes inside his shoes.

"Congrats," he said lightly.

Cameron lifted his eyes from the ground and met Tony's. "How did you hear?"

"I think it was a little hard _not _to hear," he said with faint humor. "By the time dinner came around, I'm pretty sure the entire school knew. You kind of sung in the middle of the busiest hallway in the school." He paused and uncrossed his legs, touching his feet to the ground. "I heard you sung the Beatles."

"According to Hayden," Cameron rambled, "I kicked Paul Lennon and John McCartney in the ass. So I didn't just 'sing' the Beatles, I guess."

Tony made a sort of sound, like coughing, that could almost be considered laughter. "You mean John Lennon and Paul McCartney?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Sorry." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "But that was good, what you were singing. You have a good voice."

"I guess. Thank you," he said quietly. "Years of choir will do that to you."

"With that kind of voice, I'd have to guess you were in the Warblers, too," Cameron said. He loosened his shoulders, dropping some of the tension.

Tony shrugged one shoulder and rested his elbows on his knees. "You have guessed correctly," he said. Then a devious grin crossed his face. "So I guess we'll have another class together, huh?"

Cameron's expression flattened. "Oh, goody. Just what I was hoping for."

"I'm not that bad." He reached for his guitar and set it across his lap, then squinted at Cameron. "Am I?"

Words positioned themselves on the tip of Cameron's tongue, but he swallowed them. "No comment."

"Oh, come on," Tony laughed, and his laugh was warm and pleasant, and made Cameron fidget. "Does that mean you don't know what to say, or you just don't want to answer?"

Cameron rolled his eyes, flustered, and he straightened. "Again, no comment."

"We're not going to get anywhere if you keep saying 'no comment' to everything I say."

"No comment."

Tony bit the inside of his cheek and snickered. "You're a piece of work, Cameron Taylor."

Cameron blinked at the sound of his name on Tony's lips, easy as it rolled off his tongue. For a moment, he was at loss for words. Then he shook his head. "You're just as bad as me."

"That's all you have to say?" Tony rose from the bench and arranged the guitar strap on his shoulder. He looked thoughtful. "Well, I guess that's better than 'no comment' by a longshot."

Cameron's chest felt tight and he offered a shrug. He jumped when his phone vibrated in his pocket and he glanced at the caller ID. When he saw it was a call from Hayden, he glanced up at Tony, who had gone back to his guitar, adjusting the tabs meticulously.

"Hello?" Cameron said in a hushed voice. He turned his head, but still noticed Tony watch him.

"How long does it take you to get a damn music folio?" Hayden asked from the other end. The background was filled with the others shouting, followed by a metallic cling and another shout. Hayden pulled the phone away to yell something along the lines of, "Louis, put those crutches down!"

Cameron laughed inwardly when he heard Louis bark, "Not in your lifetime!"

From his guitar, Tony stared at him oddly, and Cameron waved a hand at him.

"Are you still there?" he asked into the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here," Hayden replied, and it sounded quieter, like he shut himself in the bathroom.

"What's going on over there?"

"Louis nearly broke the projector trying to turn it on with his crutch, and then he accidentally hit Michael over the head with it," Hayden answered with a breathless laugh. "We're trying to watch the finale of season two of Doctor Who, so if you want to see why they all cry over it, you better get over here."

Cameron pinched his lips together. "Okay, okay. I'm coming."

Before Hayden had the chance to reply, Cameron hung up and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

"Some roommates you have," Tony murmured without looking up.

"They're… well, they're… interesting," he said, shifting his weight on his feet. He stifled a small laugh. When Tony only nodded, he continued on, "I should probably get back. They're going to start watching the season finale of this one television show without me, and it's a mess."

Tony rose to his feet and strapped the guitar over his shoulder. His hair looked almost unreal when he ran his fingers through it, and he glanced at Cameron. "I guess you should go then."

"I should." Cameron felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. He was about to turn on his heel when Tony's voice caught him.

"I guess I'll be seeing you in Warblers class from now on," he said, a hint of humor coloring his voice.

Cameron half turned to look over his shoulder. "I have to get it sorted out with the counselor first. Don't hold your breath."

He had a moment to register the disbelief on Tony's face before his feet carried him away from the small garden, down the path, out of sight.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Cameron finds himself the object of pranks, learns more about the person who will ruin his senior year, and endures his first day as a Warbler._


	4. Plastic Stars

Hello, readers.

I hope you've all had a wonderful summer! In my case, I sat around, ate, slept, and was obsessed with band. Where I live, marching season starts tomorrow (July 29th), which means that I won't be available as much as I am now. So as now, this will be my last update for awhile.

And just another bit of news: the sequel to WaODM has been titled and is in the process. It's called Flying and the Final Dalton Flukes, and will pick up on the first day of the new school year, showing Kurt and the boys starting off their senior year.

More news about that will come, but for now, here's the fourth chapter for Boxing the Stars. Please review!

* * *

**Plastic Stars**

* * *

"There is a reason I don't like boarding in a place with a lot of people," Cameron mused, tired and agitated. "A lot of people who like to prank other people for fun, to be more precise."

"What? You told us you liked the stars, didn't you?" Louis asked and he seemed genuinely concerned.

Cameron rubbed his face. "Yes, but not the little plastic kind that sticks everywhere and _never comes off._"

He stood in the doorway of the room he shared with Hayden and stared at his half of the room. Small plastic stars, the kind that came in bulk packages and glowed neon green when the lights were turned off, were stuck to every surface that was considered his. They were stuck to his bed frame, covering so much of it that nearly the entire thing was covered and almost no wood was showing.

All of the books he had brought with him that sat on Hayden's bookshelf were glued with the stars, on the front and back covers both. His uniform, which hung in the closet beside Hayden's, was also garnished with the celestial stickers.

The half of the room that was considered Hayden's was bare and vacant of stars, Cameron found with a deep scowl.

"They come off," Roger protested, standing behind him with a mug of coffee. "Just not that easily."

"Oh, not the telescope," Cameron whined and crossed the room to the windows. He examined his telescope and began picking off the stiff stickers with his fingers, groaning when they wouldn't come off immediately. "How did you do this? I mean, I woke up and it was like this—"

Hayden grinned. "You're a heavy sleeper. We sent off an air horn before we did this and you didn't even flinch."

Cameron's face went bright red. He glared at the other boys. "I hate all of you."

Louis shrugged. "Come on, Cam. You've got to admit that this was a decent idea for a prank," he said in defense. "Roger suggested putting glue in your shoes. At least we didn't go with that plan."

"If you went with that plan, I would have your heads on silver platters," Cameron growled. He gave up on the telescope and stalked back to the doorway. "And what about Michael? What was his plan?"

"He actually refused to do anything to you," Hayden said thoughtfully. "He was a transfer his sophomore year and he endured so much, he didn't want you to go through the same thing."

Cameron raised his eyebrows. "I'll have to thank him for sparing me," he mused. "But you're all still on the top of my 'To Kill' list."

"Ouch. Well, we did warn you that the transfers get pranked starting after the second week," Roger pointed out. He took a sip of coffee. "At least it's Friday, so you'll have the weekend to clean all this up."

Hayden's face suddenly brightened and he turned to the others. "Hey, it's Friday!"

"If you start singing that bloody song, so help me, I will—" Louis started.

"No, it's _Friday_," Roger said slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Cameron closely. "Remember what happens on Fridays?"

Louis looked elated. "Right. I wonder how that'll go today."

"What are you talking about?" Cameron snapped. "I'm in the middle of scolding you, and you're all talking about Friday. What gives?"

Hayden waved a hand to dismiss him. "It's just something we do in the Warblers. You'll find out today."

"But continue on with scolding us," Roger said.

Cameron, shaking his head, stabbed a finger at him. "Anyway, you're going to help clean this up."

"Me? Why me?"

"Not just you, _all _of you," he rephrased, glaring at Louis and Hayden respectively.

Louis waved a crutch nonchalantly. "Relax, Cameron. This is the worst we're going to do to you—" He cut off when Hayden jabbed him in the ribs. "What? What was that for?"

"You aren't supposed to tell him our plans!" the dark haired boy said, exasperated. "That's the whole idea of pranking someone. They aren't supposed to know in advance."

"I'm just letting him know, considering he looks as angry as a bulldog right now! What's the matter with that? And besides, at least he's not in North."

Cameron perked. "What's wrong with North?"

"Last year when there was a transfer, they put maple syrup in his socks, shaved off his eyebrows while he slept, poured gallons of honey in his bed, nailed him with water balloons between classes, and emptied bleach into his shampoo," Roger answered easily. "And that was all in the first week."

Cameron swallowed, hard. "Hopefully you're all nice enough that you won't do anything like that."

Louis leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder. "Look at it this way, mate: we're doing this because we like you. We wouldn't do anything if we didn't give a crap."

* * *

It was Friday, two weeks after Cameron had settled in, and today was the first day his new schedule kicked into effect. He had made an appointment with the counselor to change his third period from art to the Warblers, and now, he almost wished he had stayed with art.

As soon as he walked into the choir room after the lunch hour, a football made of coarse plastic soared through the air toward his head. With a yelp he ducked and it landed in the hallway behind him. Slowly he got to his feet and met the eyes of a few boys laughing on the other side of the room; they quieted with one look from him.

Cameron walked into the room, maneuvering through boys, keeping his bag close to his side. The room was wide, with windows covering one wall. Three couches were arranged in a U shape and opened up to face Ms. Lovett's desk; a coffee table stood in the middle of the couches.

He felt a sharp tug on his arm and found Hayden on one of the couches, looking up at him happily.

"You made it," he said gleefully and patted the open spot on the sofa next to him. "What took you so long that you were in the bathroom for five minutes just now?"

Cameron bristled and sat down. He ducked to pull his music folio from his bag just as a wad of paper soared his direction; it bounced off the back of the couch and landed in his hair. Flushing, he fished it out and dropped it disdainfully on the floor.

"No comment," he said tersely. He had a feeling Hayden would've laughed at him if he'd said he was suffering from the nerves. "And please tell me there aren't any Warbler rituals that include humiliating the new kid?"

Hayden looked thoughtful. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Are they usually this... obnoxious?" Cameron asked in a low voice, indicating the other boys in the room. Some were wadding paper into balls and shooting them across the room, basketball style, to the waste paper basket, and others were laughing loudly, out of their seats.

"Trust me, this is typical Warbler behavior," Hayden said, dodging a paper wad. "We goof off _a lot. _So if that's not something you're used to, well, then, you better get used to it."

"I'll try," Cameron said, shifting. "And why are we sitting here?"

Hayden narrowed his eyes. "Like, here as in this couch? It's where East sits," he explained. "We divide the room up between wings. North is over by the windows"—he pointed to where two boys were sitting against the windows—"and South sits by the doors. If there were any Wests, they would share this couch with us Easts."

Cameron rolled his eyes. "That's just weird," he said, and he looked over his shoulder at the back of the room.

One boy, with perfectly coiffed hair the color of coal and eyes that closely resembled emeralds, leaned against the windows with his arms folded against his chest. Hayden's brother, Nate, was talking to him, and when the boy smiled, it almost looked airbrushed, perfect. Cameron cocked his head to the side.

"Please tell me you're not staring at that dipwad," Hayden said in Cameron's ear.

"Who?" he asked, startled, and he jolted to the side.

"You know who I'm talking about. The guy who has an oil slick for hair and the one my brother's talking to. Ian Foster, the South Precursor," he grumbled. "Don't even think about talking to him."

Cameron stared at him. "Why?"

"Why? Do you even have to ask me why? Look at him!" Hayden exclaimed quietly. "He looks like a grade-A jerk, and he is one. From that, I think you can tell to stay away from him."

"Is he that bad?"

"Let's just say he's a bigger jerk than Nate." Hayden turned around and scribbled angrily on the corner of his music folio.

Cameron slowly turned around, looking away from Ian. "A bigger jerk than Nate? How is that even possible?"

"Trust me, it is." He fell silent and did not say another word.

Cameron sighed and sunk back against the cushions. The only people in the room that were recognizable were Hayden and the others from East, and Ms. Lovett, who was parked quietly behind her desk, not seeming to notice the ruckus going on around her.

Then he saw a familiar face in the corner of the room. With a music folio in his hands, Tony was leaning against the wall, his brows furrowed in concentration. His fingers were idly sorting through music and his hair, which was still a vibrant emerald, covered his eyes. Tony raised his head and found Cameron's gaze for a brief moment.

In a heartbeat, Cameron snapped his head down to stare at his hands.

Overhead, the bell echoed, and Lovett started the class. Cameron could hardly to pay attention to anything she was saying about the upcoming Sectionals competition, as his focus was fixed on Tony, who sat on the couch to his left with Nate and two others. He was jolted from his state when a few boys made comments about some of the songs they were singing, and suddenly everyone was looking at him.

On his left, Roger nudged him in the ribs and whispered, "Cameron."

"What?" he asked loudly, and then found Lovett watching him expectantly. A few boys, Ian Foster included, hid snippets of laughter, and Cameron's cheeks burned.

"We were wondering if our newest Warbler would like to test drive one of these songs for us," Ms. Lovett said and she gestured to a folio in her hand, one not unlike the ones everyone else had.

"That's you," Hayden hissed.

"I _know_," Cameron told him through gritted teeth. He hurriedly flipped his open and hunted through the sheets of paper, his gaze flipping back and forth between the director and his music. "Um, sure. Which one?"

As he yanked out the one she requested, he shot a hard glare at Hayden. He shakily stood up and as he did so, his folio slipped off his lap and papers scattered everywhere. This only elicited another fit of laughter from Ian and the boy sitting beside him, and Cameron stooped down to gather them. Hayden was down on his knees beside him in an instant.

"I thought you told me there weren't any Warbler rituals for new transfers," Cameron seethed, papers in hand. Two bright spots of pink appeared on his cheekbones and he felt almost lightheaded; he hated being put on the spot like this.

"I didn't know she would do this!" Hayden defended and he handed him a messy stack of music. "You can't quote me on everything I say."

There was a throat cleared from somewhere in the room, and Cameron bolted onto his feet, tossing the sloppy folio onto the couch where he'd been sitting. With the music in his hand, he awkwardly moved to the front of the room, banging his knee against the coffee table in the process.

"Just start when you're ready," Lovett said airily and she leaned against the couch by the windows, where Tony and Nate were sitting. She didn't seem to be fazed by his lack of coordination.

Cameron started the song precariously and it took him a few bars to get into it, but by the end of the first page, he had caught onto the words. He flipped to the second, and then the third, but when he turned to the fourth page, he found a completely different set of notes, lyrics, and keys.

His voice got caught in his throat.

"Something wrong, Mr. Taylor?" Lovett asked.

"I-I don't have all the music," Cameron admitted. He hastily tore through the stack of music in his hands and found that the first four pages were to the song she requested, but the rest of the music belonged to different songs.

By now, his face was surely scarlet and he shifted uneasily on his feet. In his seat, Hayden hid his face in his hands. Roger and Michael were talking with their heads low and together, and Louis looked like he was trying to hang himself with his crutch.

"That's alright," Lovett said. A sweet smile crossed her lips as she swept up to her desk. "I'll make another copy for you later. You can have a seat."

Cameron was already halfway to his seat by the time she finished talking. He grabbed his folio and sat down, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him completely. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony watching him, trying to hide a mocking smile. He wanted to stand up and knock the boy upside the head, but he decided that he didn't need to call any more attention to himself than he already had.

The boy sitting beside Ian, who donned fiery red hair, raised his hand. "Ms. Lovett? Before we forget about it, could we do the sing off? It is Friday, after all."

Just like that, the topic changed. Cameron felt the tightness in his chest gradually reside and he hastily licked his lips.

Almost instantly, the room broke out in vocal agreement. Tony, Cameron noted, sunk back in his seat and cast a glare at the boy, almost urging him to be quiet. Ian, on the other hand, grinned at the boy.

Ms. Lovett turned around and leaned against the desk, her eyes narrowed. She checked the watch on her wrist for the time, then looked back at the boy, whose cool expression hadn't faded the slightest bit. "You're not wrong, Mr. Atkinson. I suppose we have time right now…"

The boys shared more agreements, filling the room, and Lovett put her hands up. "Alright, alright. Ian, you and Anthony can prepare yourselves. You have five minutes," she said and retreated to her seat.

There were cheers from the couch against the windows as Ian stood with the air of a celebrity. He straightened his tie and moved to the front of the room, almost with a spring in his step.

Cameron leaned over to Hayden. "Who's Anthony?"

"Mr. Jolly Green Giant," he replied and nodded his head at Tony.

"That's his name? Anthony?" Cameron repeated. The name felt bulky in his mouth and it definitely didn't suit Tony at all. To him, the name Anthony belonged to someone erudite and well-behaved; Tony was the opposite.

Hayden shrugged and drummed his fingers against his knee. "He doesn't like to be called by his full name. Says it's too much of a tongue twister."

Silently Cameron mouthed the name, counting the syllables. He shook his head and sat back. "Why does Ms. Lovett call them by their first names? From what I'm getting, she most often uses everyone's last names."

"They're her favorites," Hayden said in a mocking tone.

"And who's the guy by Ian?" he asked, nodding to the couch closest to the doors. Ian and the boy were two of the four seated.

Hayden made a disgusted face. "Lucas Atkinson. Don't talk to him, either. He's Ian's closest advisor and fourth on the list to make everyone's life a living hell. After Tony and Ian and Nate, of course," he grumbled.

"He doesn't seem that bad," Cameron said.

But Hayden didn't seem to hear him. "Actually, don't talk to any of them: Nate, Ian, Lucas, or Tony. They're all trouble."

At the front of the room, Ian was pacing in front of Lovett's desk, almost as if he owned the room. His hands were neatly tucked behind his back and his chin was raised a fraction. He stopped pacing and glanced at Tony, who was still sulking on the couch.

"Come on, Hart," he said kindly, but with a faint bite to his words. "Aren't you going to sing with me? Or are you going to let me win this again?"

Tony only rolled his eyes. But he stood up and his hands clenched, then unclenched nervously, at his sides, something unusual from what Cameron had seen the night in the garden.

"Is this what you were talking about that happens on Fridays?" Cameron asked Roger.

Roger nodded with glee. "It's the best part of every week."

"So it's just a sing off? What's the big deal about a sing off?"

"It's not just a sing off. It's, like, a musical duel to the death," Hayden chimed in from his other side. "It's basically like a sports game, where two rivals clash and play until someone wins. At the beginning of every week, someone has the opportunity to challenge someone else in a duel."

Cameron wrinkled his nose. "And what good does that do? Is it just for fun?"

"Most of the time," Roger answered. "But when we get into competition music, Lovett makes it a big game. She lets us compete for all the leads in the music. Last year it got pretty good."

"Yeah, last year Louis got a solo for Sectionals," Hayden mentioned, looking over at the boy with the crutches, who was too busy playing with them to notice that he was being talked about. "Ian waltzed right up and challenged him for it, and got it."

"Did he challenge back for it?" Cameron questioned.

Roger shook his head slowly. "No one ever challenges Ian."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

Cameron looked between the two boys, thinking of adding more, but he stayed quiet and leaned his elbows on his knees to watch.

"Alright, time's up," Lovett announced from her desk. Ian and Tony—Cameron could hardly think of him as Anthony—met in front of her, both sharing piercing glares. She pulled a coin from the top drawer of her desk. "Call it."

"Heads!" Ian shouted as soon as she finished her command, and he looked cockily at Tony.

Tony played with the brass button on the cuff of his blazer. "Tails for me, then."

"Always tails," Ian added with a smirk.

Lovett cast them a silent warning and tossed the coin into the air. The boys in the room seemed to hold their breaths as she caught it and flipped it onto her wrist. She slightly smiled at Ian. "Ian, it looks like you're going up first."

The smirk only widened on Ian's face and he turned to Tony, saying, "Better luck next time, Hart."

Tony smiled a plastic smile and brushed past him, muttering something along the lines of, "First is the worst, second is the best." The boys who heard it chuckled, but were silenced by Ian's frozen stare.

"Ian always calls heads because that's what always wins," Roger grumbled darkly. To Cameron, he explained, "There's a weird sort of thing that goes on with flipping coins. We don't know if it's voodoo magic or what, but whoever calls heads always ends up going first. It's like a curse."

"So if you ever think about challenging," Hayden said, "call heads."

"Well, we haven't got all class period," Lovett said, waving both hands at Ian.

Ian smiled at her, then turned to face the group. His eyes flashed once over Cameron and lingered on him, making him fidget. He began to sing without his gaze faltering.

_So hot, out the box,_

_Can we pick up the pace?_

_Turn it up, heat it up, _

_I need to be entertained,_

_Push the limit, are you with it?_

_Baby, don't be afraid,_

_I'm a hurt ya real good, baby_

What Roger said earlier about no one ever challenging Ian to a sing off proved to be true. The lyrics rolled off his tongue with a certain grace, and his voice was low and smooth. He was, without a doubt, talented.

_Let's go, it's my show,_

_Baby, do what I say, don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display,_

_I told ya, I'm a hold ya 'til you're screaming my name,_

_No escaping when I start,_

_Once I'm in I own your heart,_

_There's no way you'll ring the alarm,_

_So hold on until it's over_

For the remainder of the song, Cameron kept his eyes fixed on Ian's shoes; there was no way he could look straight at him for more than five seconds without gaining the urge to look away. There was something about him that made shudders run up and down Cameron's spine.

When Ian belted the last note, the group broke into a round of applause, Lucas and the three others on the couch by the doors louder than the rest. He took a dramatic bow, grinning greatly, and he returned to his seat.

"Would you kill me if I told you he was actually good?" Cameron said quietly to Hayden.

"Nope. I said the same exact thing the first time I heard him. It's like God decided to give the best possible voice in the world, with the best range, to a complete and utter jerk," he responded flatly.

On his other side, Roger pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tony better have something spectacular pulled together if he ever wants to beat Ian," he mumbled. "Because I don't think anyone can beat him, especially when he's singing Adam Lambert. Even Adam Lambert."

Tony moved to take Ian's place at the front of the room and he casually leaned back against Lovett's desk. She gestured him to start with the flick of her wrist as she scanned over a stack of papers in front of her.

It took a moment for him to get started, but he tapped his foot gently to a beat that existed only in his head. Cameron leaned forward as Tony began to sing.

_Your daddy always said you should stay away from a fool like me, a fool like me,_

_And when your momma sees me callin' on your telephone, _

_The bitch hangs up on me,_

_Huh?_

His voice was bright and energetic, the complete opposite of what Cameron had heard the other night. The first he'd heard of Tony's voice was sweet and soft, but now it was filled with energy and begging to be heard.

_Remember that time I blew your mailbox up, _

_I was just kidding about that,_

_I'm sorry that I hit your dog with my bike,_

_But he's still got three legs, he's gonna be just fine,_

_And baby, baby I ain't too sure that I know how to change anymore,_

_But this I know for sure,_

_I just got eyes for you,_

_Even though your friends say, "Oh my god, how can she be with him?_

_Oh my god, leave his ass!"_

Cameron's chest felt tight when Tony looked right at him; he flushed when he thought Tony winked. He sat back with his hands knotted in his lap. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hayden grimace.

_I never meant to drive your car into that tree,_

_I'm still real sorry about that,_

_And I know I can't get it right,_

_But I would do anything, anything,_

_For my baby, baby ain't you too sure that I know how to change anymore,_

_But this you know for sure,_

_I just got eyes for you,_

_Even though your friends say, "Oh my god, how can she be with him?_

_Oh my god, leave his ass!_

Tony took a wild leap onto the coffee table, which sat in the middle of the room. He crouched low on his feet, his soft voice filled with energy; at one point, he made eye contact with Cameron, who squinted at him.

Ms. Lovett immediately stood up from her desk and shouted, "Anthony!"

He stopped singing and straightened up, turning to face her. "Yes?"

She waved a hand at him. "Get off the table. You're done."

"But I didn't finish singing, Ms. Lovett!" Tony protested jokingly.

Lovett shook her head. "Nope. Get off my table. No furniture hopping."

Tony let out a teasingly disappointed sigh, but hopped off the table and took his seat once more.

"Well," Ms. Lovett said, her curls bouncing on her shoulders, "let's take a vote. All in favor of Ian?"

Most of the boys shot their hands up. Cameron kept his hand down, but Hayden, Louis, Roger, and Michael raised theirs.

"And all in favor of Anthony?"

Cameron raised his hand, and found himself to be the only one to do so. After a second, he dropped his hand quickly, an awkward silence in the room. He could feel Tony's hard gaze boring holes in the side of his head and he couldn't help

Lovett clapped her hands together. "I think that settles it. Congratulations, Ian," she said. "Now, let's get back on track with Sectionals music, shall we?" She swept up her folio and started talking over each piece.

Cameron sorted through his music, trying to organize it properly after having dropped it, and he felt his face catch fire.

* * *

"Next time you decide to prank me, make sure it doesn't involve adhesive," Cameron said stiffly as he worked off another star that was stuck to his telescope. It was the afternoon, after class had let out. Warblers practice was scheduled around the dinner hour, and the boys were required to stay the weekend for extra practice.

"And next time we prank you," Louis grumbled, "we'll make sure you don't know it was us, so we don't have to help you clean up."

Cameron turned to look at him. "I'm pretty sure it would be you. I don't even know anyone else in this wing."

"You never know," Roger said. He was bent down in front of Cameron's bed and was peeling off stars from the frame. "Nate and Tony could come in and sabotage you."

Hayden, who was standing on Cameron's bed, dropped a star on Roger's head. "They wouldn't do that. You know how Markus is about wings pranking other wings."

Cameron pulled off another star and plopped down on the window seat. "Why does he go by Tony?"

All four boys stopped to look at him funny.

"What?" Michael asked, the first to break the silence.

"Why does Tony go by Tony and not Anthony?" Cameron said again. He fiddled with a star in his hand and the point poked into his palm.

Louis pushed his glasses up his nose. "He doesn't like it when people call him Anthony. His dad calls him Anthony all the time when he comes around to the school," he explained. "It's quite an embarrassing thing for him, his dad."

"Why does his dad come around?"

"His dad's the superintendent for the school district," Hayden answered. He dropped a handful of stars on Roger's head with a sly grin.

Roger hit him in the ankle and shook the stickers off his head. "So he comes around a lot to check on things, to see how things are going."

"One time," Michael said, "we all thought he was going to pull Markus, or something, for that one fiasco. The one where he saw the broken elevator and asked why it hadn't gotten fixed yet."

"He was sweating bullets that day," Louis said with agreement. He looked to Cameron. "So yeah, Tony's dad is the superintendent. Big whoop. It's basically the equivalent of your dad being a teacher, or something. You get a lot of benefits."

"Like what?" Cameron said. His telescope was completely rid of plastic stars and he stood back with satisfaction.

Hayden had trouble shaking off a star that had stuck to his palm. "His dad lets him dye his hair whenever he wants and he doesn't get in trouble with the teachers. You know, I don't think we've ever seen his real hair color before."

Roger looked up at him. "If you look in the yearbook for freshman year, I think he had brown hair."

"Brown hair?" Cameron echoed in awe. He could hardly imagine such a natural color on his hair, as he was used to the forest green.

"He was a bit of a spud the first half of freshman year. I don't think he started dying his hair until the second half," Hayden said. But he stopped short, silent.

Cameron squinted at him. He moved to his desk to start picking stars from his laptop. "What? What's wrong?"

With a glance around the room, he saw that the other three boys were similar expressions, flat and remote. Even Louis, who was usually the most garrulous out of all of them, was reduced to silence.

"What? Say something!" Cameron demanded.

"Tony started dying his hair when his mom passed away," Michael said in a small voice.

Cameron let his mouth drop open, and he blinked rapidly. All the words he wanted to say were caught in his throat.

"But don't ask him about it or anything," Roger said gruffly and he jerked off another star from the bed frame. "Obviously, he's still really bothered by it. He would probably punch you if you brought it up."

Michael pursed his lips. "Actually, I think he did. Punch someone, I mean."

"Actually, I think that someone was Ian," Hayden said brightly.

"How did she—" Cameron started.

"Cancer," Louis interrupted shortly. His glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose, yet he didn't push them back into place.

"Don't ask him about it," Hayden advised strongly. "It's been hard on him and his sisters. His dad, especially."

Cameron curled his toes inside his shoes. "I can imagine. Oh, gosh, I feel so bad for him."

"Don't," Louis said in a monotone. "If he'd punch you for bringing it up, he'd probably roundhouse kick you if you told him you felt bad for him. He doesn't take sympathy very well."

"It seems that way."

The boys worked for a few minutes in silence before Hayden spoke up again.

"After his mom passed away, he completely lost it," he said quietly. "He stopped doing sing offs during class, his grades went down the tubes, which gave his dad more stress than he could handle, and he turned into the biggest asshole on the face of the planet."

"Still is," Louis muttered, yanking off a star.

Cameron looked at him. "He doesn't seem like an asshole."

"You only just met him. Give him a week and he'll start up again. He's only being semi-nice to you because you're a transfer and he doesn't want to scare you out of the school yet," Roger said with a shrug.

"And in sophomore year," Hayden went on, picking up from where he left off, "Lovett gave him a solo for Sectionals and he completely bombed it. He disappeared when we were loading up to go and we didn't find him until we came back."

Cameron let his lips part slightly. "He had a solo? What happened when he wasn't there to sing it?"

"I stepped in and saved the day," Louis said proudly. He lifted one arm and flexed his muscles. "Thankfully, I knew the song that he was supposed to sing, so it wasn't a big deal, but Lovett went ballistic. She nearly started crying when she did a head count when we got there—"

"And when we got back," Michael picked up, "she shouted at him, right in front of the entire group. She almost kicked him out of the Warblers for it, but his dad stepped in and saved his sorry ass."

"And he did the same thing _again _when Lovett finally got back to trusting him. He bailed on us right before the Winter Festival, when he had this big opening solo," Hayden said pointedly. He pushed his hair from his eyes.

Cameron twirled a curl between his fingers. "If he kept bailing out on you guys, why did Lovett keep giving him solos?"

Roger sighed loudly. "She thought she was trying to help him recover from his mom's passing, but she was only making it worse. He kept saying he would do things, just to make her happy, then drop out at the last minute. Then he would feel guilty about it and do bad things."

"No one really trusted him after the end of sophomore year," Michael murmured sadly. "Which is disappointing, because he has the potential to be a generally good person, but all the things he did were bad, like Roger was saying."

"Bad?" Cameron squeaked. He fingered a star, tracing its edges with his thumb.

Hayden nodded. "One time, he came back from a weekend, drunk, and Ian caught him wandering around the parking lot and dinging other students' cars, and he turned him in. Markus called his dad, and bad things went down."

"There was another time when snuck a girl on campus. He said he'd hooked up with her, and both Markus and his dad nearly had a fit," Louis said. "His dad almost thought of sending him to military school."

"Why didn't he?" Cameron questioned.

"His sisters needed the support. Since they'd already lost their mom, his dad didn't think it would help if they lost their brother, too," Roger explained.

A beat of silence.

"But he's still a bloody asshole," Louis grumbled. "You can hardly trust a bone in his body, let alone himself as a whole."

"Do us all a favor," Hayden said, gesturing to himself and the others, "and don't talk to him. It'll save you a lot of grief when he lets you down for something."

For the next five minutes, the boys worked in silence. Hayden finished peeling stars off the ceiling, and Roger cleared the bedframe. Michael cleaned out the bathroom while Louis unstuck stickers from books. Cameron had his laptop open on his lap and was yanking off stars from the screen when suddenly the computer dinged.

A small icon in the corner of his desktop flashed, the one for Skype, and Cameron tilted his head. Then a pop-up appeared on the screen, bearing a name with a picture.

_Peter Landry._

Cameron almost dropped the laptop.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked as he carried an armful of stars out of the bathroom. He dumped them on the bureau, with a few sticking to his arms.

"Just Skype. Someone's video calling me." Cameron glanced up immediately and met Hayden's eyes. "It's Peter."

"Peter?" Hayden shrieked, and he nearly toppled off the bed. "Why the hell is he calling you? Hang up, hang up!"

Louis perked. "Who's Peter?"

Cameron felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he placed his hands on either side of his face. "He's just—he's—"

"He's Cameron's asshole ex-boyfriend, that's who he is," Hayden spat venomous. He jumped down from the bed ungracefully and tripped over Roger.

"Ex-boyfriend?" Michael squeaked.

Louis broke into a wide grin and he leaned casually against his crutches. "_Really. _How interesting. Is he cute?"

"Does that even matter?" Cameron snapped heatedly and he set the laptop, the dial tone still ringing, on the window seat beside him. He shot a sharp glare at Hayden. "And thanks for letting everyone know, Hayden. I was going to plan on saying something about it later—"

"Well, it's now or never," Hayden said with a careless shrug. "And look on the bright side: Louis finally has another guy in this school who can frolic with him in fields of rainbows and sparkles."

Louis picked up one crutch and hurled it at him. Hayden rubbed his arm where it hit him and said, "Ouch, what was that for?"

"You're going to be wishing you'd never said that," Louis said lowly. "Now give me my crutch back. I actually need it."

As Louis hobbled toward him and Hayden held it out of his reach, the laptop's ringing finally ceased. Cameron watched the screen and let out a long breath. But a few moments later, the ringing started up again and the same caller ID appeared.

"Just answer him," said Roger. "I have a feeling this guy is going to keep calling until you pick up."

Sighing, Cameron hit a button and the screen expanded. He turned up the speakers, only to hear mumbling and shouting:

"Hey—shut up, Jason!—Guys, look, he finally answered!—It's about time—Oh, crap, I think Hodges is coming!—No, she's not—Hi, Cameron, hi!"

Then Cameron was staring at his old choir room, and a bunch of faces were crowded around a laptop, peering into the webcam and rambling. He easily picked out some of the friends he'd made: Laura, the short brunette; Molly, Laura's sister; Jacob, the tallest guy in the choir that always had to stand in the back; and plenty more. Some faces he didn't recognize, but the one he knew all too well was front and center: Peter.

Peter hadn't changed too much in the few months Cameron hadn't seen him. His hair was lighter with highlights from standing out in the sun all summer and his skin was tan. His chestnut hair was brushed neatly in the same style Cameron was used to, with the little cowlick sticking up in the back that he always forgot to brush. When he smiled into the camera, Cameron's heart sank.

"Hey, Cam!" he said cheerfully, but his voice sounded fuzzy because of the connection. "What's up?"

Cameron shifted back so his back was pressing against the windows and he held his computer close to him to hide the screen from the others. "Nothing much. Where are you? Aren't you still in school? It's three o'clock, your time."

"Yeah, it's last period," Peter said. The computer was sitting on some desk and he was bent over in front of it with his hands on his knees. "Hodges is out copying music for us, and lucky for us, the copy room is on the other side of the school, so she won't be back for a good ten minutes."

"Oh," Cameron said simply. "Why are you calling me, though?"

"We wanted to see you!" cried a petite voice that belonged to Laura. She bounced into view and grinned, her long hair in a braid over her shoulder. "We really, really miss you Cameron. We wish you hadn't moved."

Cameron rested his cheek in his hand. "Yeah, I know."

In front of him, the four boys were bent over with their heads low, talking, almost like a football huddle. Louis kept glancing over his shoulder at Cameron, and Cameron replied with a stare that made him turn away.

Cameron picked at his lip. He raised his eyes when the four boys came up to him, all looking stern.

"What?" he hissed, watching the screen.

"What?" Peter asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Not you. I have… My roommates are just being idiots."

Louis frowned. "We're not being idiots. And besides, I'm not even your roommate!" he proclaimed.

Peter laughed. "Is that one of them?"

"Unfortunately," Cameron said through gritted teeth.

"We think you should hang up on him," Hayden stated. He crossed his arms over his chest. His voice was loud enough that Peter would most likely hear him, and Cameron wanted to knock his head off.

Cameron muted the volume and set the laptop aside. "What I do with my ex-boyfriend does not concern any of you."

Roger jabbed Louis in the ribs when he started snorting with laughter. "Oh, shut _up, _Louis. You're so immature sometimes, you know that?"

"Sorry, it was funny," Louis defended, hand covering his mouth.

By the time Cameron had rolled his eyes, he noticed that Hayden had the laptop in his hands and the volume was back on. Hayden was smiling at the screen the same way he smiled at his brother: fake and irritated.

"I'm Hayden," he said with mock cheerfulness. "Cameron's roommate."

"Ah. Peter Landry. Nice to meet you," Peter said, his voice tinny from the connection. From the tone of his voice, Cameron could tell he was sizing Hayden up, and Cameron dug his nails into the window seat. "And who are the others?"

"We're Cameron's student probation officers—" Roger started, gleefully leaning over Hayden's shoulder to look at the screen, but Cameron lunged forward and grappled for the laptop.

Once he had it in his hands, he stormed across the room and shut himself in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it and slid down to sit on the floor, sighing.

"Cam?" Peter asked tentatively.

"What?" He heard sharpness in his voice.

"Your friends are really, really weird," he laughed casually.

Cameron threaded his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, well, what can I do? They're in my wing, and one of them is my roommate. I can't really change anything about it. I mean, I can't change them. I can change roommates easily, but—"

"I get it," Peter said with a smile. Behind him, someone shouted, "Shut the laptop, shut the laptop! Hodges is coming!" Peter glanced back at the camera. "Gotta go, Cam. I'll call you again sometime, okay? I miss you."

But before Cameron could reply, the call was cut off and he was faced with a blank screen. Letting out a sigh, he shut the lid and pushed it onto the floor in front of him. He buried his face in his hands.

Then came an abrupt knock on the door behind him and he jumped.

"Just a minute," he said weakly.

As he got to his feet, the door burst open behind him and hit him in the back. Michael and Roger peeked their heads in inquisitively.

"How did you get that unlocked? It only unlocks from the inside!" Cameron exclaimed. He took a step back and tripped over his laptop.

Louis' head appeared underneath Michael's and he held out a bobby pin with a devious grin. "I happen to be very skilled at breaking and entering."

"And I happen to be very annoyed with _all _of you," Cameron grumbled as he scooped up his laptop. He yanked the door open, causing them to lose their footing briefly, and he stalked past them into the room. "Thanks to you, my ex-boyfriend probably thinks I moved into some… some insane asylum!"

"That's not entirely false. We are all a little crazy here," Hayden mumbled with an eyebrow raised.

"Why do you care what your ex-boyfriend thinks? After all, that's what the 'ex' part means. You're not supposed to care," Louis questioned, hobbling to Hayden's bed. He flopped back dramatically and dropped his crutches beside him.

Cameron bristled and jammed the charger into a port on his laptop. He kept his back to the boys. "I just…"

"You don't have to please everyone, Cameron. You can't," Michael said timidly.

"And you _shouldn't_," Roger corrected with his arms folded over his broad chest. "Especially not your ex. I don't care if he looks like a dreamboat and has the voice of an angel."

Cameron's cheeks caught aflame and he whipped around. "Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore, and I don't want any of you around if he calls me again. You already made it bad enough by being in the room."

Hayden's face dropped and he seemed to sink into himself. "Well, excuse me, for me being in this room, even if half of it is _mine_. And it was completely _mine _before you showed up."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for snapping," Cameron sighed. He sat down in the desk chair and pulled his knees to his chest. "I'm just used to trying to make people happy, even if it puts me in an awkward position."

"You can't make everyone happy," Michael repeated.

"I know." Cameron pressed his forehead against his knees.

* * *

Warblers practice started an hour before dinner and extended an hour after. Before, most of the boys were exhausted and as they came back from dinner, they were still exhausted.

Cameron walked back to the choir room with Hayden, Roger, and Michael. In the last five minutes of dinner, Nate had passed by the table and "accidentally" dumped his trash over Louis' head. Louis had let out a string of curse words that seemed too blasphemous to come out of his mouth, and he'd tripped Nate with his crutch.

Needless to say, Tony had to escort both of them to the Dean's office.

"I swear, he gets in more trouble than anyone else in this school," Hayden grumbled as they approached the choir room.

"I hope he survives this one," Roger said hopefully. "I can't imagine Markus being lenient on him this time."

Cameron pursed his lips. "What else could possibly happen to him? He's already got a week of detention, right? What else is there?"

"Kitchen duty, office aid, suspension, expulsion, and something that involves a restraining order and a parent conference," Michael listed without missing a beat as they walked into the room. "Let's hope he only gets another week of detention."

"And let's hope Nate gets suspended," Hayden said darkly. He plopped down on the couch that they usually sat on and dug out his music folio.

Over the past few days, Cameron had noticed that boys of the same wing sat together, in the choir room and most everywhere. The boys from North occupied the couch that leaned against the windows, South took up the one with its back to the doors, and East and West shared the longest one that faced Lovett's desk. Though there was no one from West, only Cameron and the four others.

Cameron sat down beside him and fiddled with his folio. Since the mess he'd made earlier in class, he had taken the time to paper clip each piece of music accordingly, so that all the parts would stay together. As he studied over one of the songs, the doors opened and he heard Hayden groan beside him.

Ian Foster strolled through the door, straightening his tie. His black hair was swept up gracefully and it contrasted heavily against his pale skin. His eyes graze Cameron and lingered on him before Cameron snapped his head down.

"If he even _thinks _about messing with you, I'll…" Hayden uttered under his breath. "Do something to him. I don't know what, but I'll do something."

Lovett stood up once everyone had returned from the dining hall and was seated. "Okay, boys. We're going to run over music for Sectionals. I know it may seem far away now, but it's only a matter of weeks. Three and a half, if you're counting," she said as she slowly paced back and forth. "So what I'm going to do is host a sing off.

"There are three songs I have in mind for this performance, and all three have primary leads, secondary leads, and instrumental leads," she went on. "Whoever wishes to audition for the primary and secondary leads will perform in the sing off next Friday, during class. Those who do not will be put on instrumental. Everyone clear so far?"

A few boys nodded and she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, continuing on.

"You will be allowed to sing whatever you wish, just so long as it is school appropriate," she said, her gaze landing on a few select boys, Ian included. "We will take a vote at the end of the period and that will determine who will be singing what."

Before she could add anything, the doors opened quietly and Louis hobbled in, with Tony right behind him.

Louis beamed and said ecstatically, "I made it out alive, fellas!" He dropped down on the end of the sofa beside Michael and propped his crutches against the table. Tony, on the other hand, was noticeably silent and he took his seat without saying anything, though he did find Cameron's eyes.

"Mr. Watson," Lovett said sternly, "we all appreciate your wonderful existence, but could you please stay quiet for one moment? We're discussing the terms for Sectionals."

Louis gave her a two finger salute, like an army sergeant, and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Rolling her eyes, Lovett resumed pacing and went on. "So if any of you have already decided that you would like to audition, please speak now. I'll ask again on Monday, but I'll start taking names now."

Immediately, Ian's hand shot into the air. "I'd like to audition. Primary lead."

At his side, Tony fixed his gaze on Cameron. He gave an eye roll to Ian's declaration and Cameron had to bite his lip to keep a smile back.

Lovett reached for a pen and a pad and scribbled his name down. She turned to the room. "Anyone else? Come on, now, don't be shy. It's our first Sectional in two years!"

"I'll do it. Secondary lead," Louis avowed.

"Not you. You're still going to be in a cast by the time Sectionals rolls around, and I'm under strict orders from Markus and your doctor to not let you do anything strenuous until your leg is completely healed. I want to see you do backflips before I'll let you audition," she replied snippily.

Louis slumped back in his seat with a deep scowl set on his face.

"I'll give it a whirl," Tony said, his voice quiet. "I'll try for secondary."

Ms. Lovett's face lit up pleasantly and she scribbled his name down. "Is there anyone else that would like to give it a go? Someone's got to. We only have two names, and unless someone else speaks up, Anthony and Ian are going to be our frontrunners."

Cameron nudged Hayden and whispered, "Why don't you try?"

"Try for secondary lead? Or primary?" he whispered back.

"Both, I guess." He folded the corner of his folder.

"No way," Hayden said dejectedly. "If I end up getting secondary, I'll have to sing with Ian, and I don't think anyone wants to do that. If I try for primary, Ian is going to steamroll me. I wouldn't even have a chance."

"Mr. Piper," Lovett said with a delighted ring to her voice. She pointed the end of her pen at him. "I haven't heard you too much this year. Why don't you try?"

Hayden blanched. "I'd really rather not."

"Oh, nonsense. I'm putting you down for a secondary," she said, almost as if she hadn't heard his protest. She smiled sweetly at him.

Sinking back in his seat, Hayden covered his face.

Lovett tapped her pen against the pad, her eyes scanning the room. "Is there really no one else who would like to try? It's _Sectionals, _boys."

Cameron curled his toes in his shoes and his hand jerked into the air. All eyes snapped to him, Ian's included, and he focused on the director, his jaw set. "I'd like to try for a primary lead."

Someone to his right made a noise that sounded like coughing over a laugh and his face warmed. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Hayden's mouth was open and Roger's eyebrows had shot into his hairline. Michael looked pale enough to fall out of his seat, and Louis' glasses dropped to the tip of his nose.

"Alright, Mr. Taylor," Lovett said. She added his name to her list and clicked her pen. "Is there anyone else who'd like to try?"

Silence crossed the room, yet all Cameron could hear was his pulse rushing in his ears.

* * *

"You're insane!"

"You're going bonkers!"

"Why would you do that?"

"Do you have a death wish?"

Cameron covered his ears in an attempt to block out the boys' remarks, but Hayden yanked one hand off and Roger yanked the other off. Louis balanced in front of him, waving one crutch in the air, and Michael looked too stunned for words.

The choir room was nearly empty after rehearsal. Ms. Lovett had gone to copy music and most of the boys had gone back to the dorms, whispering under their breaths. Cameron and the others were the only ones remaining, aside from Tony, who was still packing his things with a deliberate pace.

"Why is wanting to audition for a primary lead so bad?" he snapped when he found a break in their rants.

"Because," Louis said, "you're going to get flattened. Squashed. Demolished—"

"I think he gets it," Michael muttered with his bag over his shoulder.

Hayden let out a long, dramatic sigh, and took Cameron by the shoulders. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, Cameron. If I were you, I would go right up to Lovett and ask her to take your name off the list. You do not want to have a sing off against Ian."

"And why is that?" Cameron asked and jerked away. He tucked his folio in his bag and fastened it.

"Because he thinks you can't win."

Cameron was the only one who jumped when Tony spoke up all of a sudden. Hayden put his face in his hand and grabbed his bag as Tony wandered over to them. He stood taller than all four of the others by at least two or three inches and even if he slouched, he would still tower over them.

"Maybe I can't," Cameron said tightly, meeting the other boy's dark eyes, "but I can try."

"You can try all you like, but hardly anyone beats Ian," Tony said lowly. "He has more talent than everyone in the choir put together."

Cameron narrowed his eyes at him. "I don't know why you're saying that. You have twice the talent. I mean, you got robbed at the last sing off—"

"Now is not the time to argue. Now is the time to accept what people are telling you," Roger interjected gruffly.

"And you need to accept the fact that you could possibly die and be humiliated," Hayden said. "Not in that order, necessarily, but still—"

Cameron held his hands up in defense. "All of you need to stop talking for a second. I swear, it's like having a bee hive in my head," he said, and he didn't notice when Michael flinched. "Please?" he added weakly at the end.

Hayden let out a short sigh.

"I'm going to go through with this. I want to try for a primary lead, and I want sort of build myself up again," Cameron went on. "This morning was a complete dud and I want to show everyone that I'm not just some new guy who joined the Warblers just because he was needed so you guys could go to Sectionals."

Louis scratched his head. "It's your funeral." He started cautiously towards the doors and Michael followed close behind without saying anything.

"May the force be with you," Roger said in all seriousness. As he passed Cameron, he clapped his hand on his shoulder.

Hayden crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips, studying Cameron. "Good luck. That's all I'm saying. I'll see you back in the dorms," he said, glaring once at Tony, and left the room.

Cameron watched him leave, and then he was aware that Tony was still in the room with him.

"I think you're crazy for wanting to do this," Tony said, shaking his head. An amused smile colored his face and it looked nice on him.

"You and everybody else," Cameron grumbled.

Tony leaned his weight to one side, with his hands in his pockets. "Look, Hayden and the others are right when they say Ian has never lost a sing off; in fact, he beat me today, so his record still stands. And they're also right when they say you shouldn't do it."

"Why? Because I'm going to lose?" He stood rigidly, his hands in fists at his sides and his nails digging into his palms.

"No. Because they're afraid of the tantrum Ian's going to throw when he loses. He might break something, mind you." Tony walked past him to the doors, their shoulders brushing briefly. He stopped on the threshold when Cameron spoke.

"What?" he asked, blinking.

Tony turned halfway to face him and a lock of hair swept over his eyes. "If you sing as well as I've heard others say, then you can win."

Cameron threaded his fingers together. "And how bad?"

"How bad what?"

"How bad of a tantrum will Ian throw when I win?" he asked and he couldn't help the grin that crept onto his face.

Tony merely laughed under his breath, his chin ducked to touch his chest. "Let's just say we're going to have to call a SWAT team on campus."

"That bad?"

He looked thoughtful. "Maybe _two _SWAT teams."

Cameron tilted his head to the side, smiling the slightest bit, and watched as Tony disappeared into the hallway without another word.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Cameron finds himself getting on Tony's bad side, gets his car hijacked, and introduces his friends to pain in the form of dramatic television._


	5. Take the Fall

Hello, readers.

Sorry for my absence these past two weeks! I've been out on the marching field at my school, working on our marching band show! I seriously have the worst tan lines anyone could have... My legs and arms are tan, but my feet are absolutely white.

Anyway, I'm glad to get back into the swing of things. School starts for me in about two weeks, and I'm not ready. I still have to do my summer reading... But I'll probably just marathon Teen Wolf and write.

So yeah. I'm also working on the sequel to WaODM, so never fear! I'll post eventually...

Anyway, reviews would be nice!

* * *

**Take the Fall**

* * *

If there was one thing Cameron could not stand more than the immense amount of homework that had been thrown at him in the last two and a half weeks, it was the drumming of a pen on a desk. Over, and over, and over.

Cameron whipped around in his desk when Mr. Hayes had finished teaching the lesson, his hand clenched around his pencil. "Would you stop tapping on your desk? To be honest, you sound like a freaking woodpecker."

Surprised with the remark, Tony sat up a little straighter in his desk, but he continued drumming a constant rhythm. "Whoa, who peed in your coffee this morning?"

"I hate it when people use that expression," he said with a disgusted grimace. Then he took a double take of Tony and blinked, his expression going from disturbed to inquisitive. "Did you change your hair color?"

Tony reached up to touch his hair and pulled a lock in front of his eyes. Instead of a blazing emerald, it was now the color of an amethyst stone. "I guess I did. Why, don't you like purple?"

"I was only noticing," Cameron said rigidly. "And besides, why would it matter to you if I didn't like it? It's your hair."

He shrugged indifferently. "It's nice to please people sometimes."

Cameron froze and he stared at him for a long moment, long enough to make Tony say, "What?"

"Nothing," he muttered. He turned around in his seat, then turned back around a second later. He plucked Tony's pen from his hand and faced the front, starting on the bookwork that was assigned.

"Can I get that back?" came Tony's stunned voice a few minutes later.

Cameron shook his head. "You learn to not tap it against the desk like you're in a drum line, and I'll give it back to you. But right now, you are not in a drum line. We are in a Math class and I happen to be trying to learn things that will be useful later in life."

Tony sat back in his chair, defeated, and blew a shock of purple hair from his face.

* * *

"Okay, I give up. I know I wanted to be impressive and take all these amazing, advanced classes that would look good on my college application," Cameron murmured as he moved from first period to second, his bag weighing him down, "but I would sort of appreciate it if some of that could be taken back, maybe?"

Two textbooks weighed down his bag, one for Math and the other for his History class. He carried a thinner book in his arm that was for his Astronomy course, but they hardly ever used it, as Professor Whitney called it, "a bunch of trash facts put together by a bunch of trash guys who think they know stuff about the stars."

He had been trying to play catch-up with his classes since his first day, which had included staying up until four every morning to finish writing out math equations, typing up a draft for a History essay, and working on a celestial map that was supposed to be drawn by hand. By now, he was only staying up until one, but each morning he woke up exhausted.

As he paced down the hall with his bag like a weight on his shoulder, he felt someone prod his arm and he looked up, startled. A pair of glowing emerald eyes stared back at him and he almost jumped.

Ian Foster had caught up to him and was walking alongside him with his hands folded behind his back. "Hello, Cameron."

"Ian," he said somewhat tightly. He had a feeling he looked like a deer in headlights.

"How are your classes going so far? Not too hard, I hope?" Ian said casually, his voice cool.

Cameron adjusted his bag. "They're fine. And even if they were difficult, I could handle them easily."

One corner of his lips turned up. "You sound confident. How are you adjusting to boarding school? I heard you transferred from a public system."

"I did, and it's fine," he answered and he turned the corner. He sighed inwardly when Ian followed.

"I'm glad to hear you're making the transition."

Cameron nearly skidded to a halt. "Okay, what do you want?"

"What do I want? What do you mean?" Ian asked, confused. He blinked, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"Don't act innocent," he said. "Usually when someone makes small talk and actually _wants _to make small talk, they don't sound like they've practiced for hours in front of a mirror."

Ian raised his eyebrows, amused, and he laughed richly. "You're a card, Cameron. I don't want anything from you."

"If you don't want anything, then why are you talking to me in the first place?" Cameron asked. He paced down a corridor, with Ian at his heels, and finally they came to his class. He stopped at the door and turned to face him.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck on Friday. You know, for the sing off," Ian said in a too-sweet tone of voice. "Today's Wednesday, you know. Have you picked out a song to sing yet?"

Cameron's agitated expression flickered faintly with anxiety, and Ian saw it right away.

"But no worries. I just wanted to remind you about it. Should be loads of fun," he continued airily. He flashed Cameron a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial and brushed past him, blending in with the boys around him.

Cameron paced into the room and sat down at his desk before his knees had the chance to give out.

* * *

During lunch, Hayden chewed slowly and watched as Cameron unloaded half his messenger bag onto the table.

"Whoa, how much stuff is in there?" he asked, picking up a textbook for a core class. "Is that like Hermione's magic bag, or something?"

"I just know how to organize," Cameron said shortly. He fished out a spiral from the pile of supplies in front of him and flipped it open to the lesson Mr. Hayes had covered. He grabbed the textbook from Hayden's hand and propped it open.

Michael approached the table with two trays and pulled out a chair for Louis with his foot. He blinked when he saw papers covering the table. "What just happened? Did your bag throw up?"

"He's very organized, apparently," Hayden supplied and he sipped from a bottle of water.

"I'll say," Michael murmured, sitting down. "Is this all the stuff you carry around every day to class?"

Cameron nodded a few seconds too late, as he was busy skimming a paragraph with his finger.

"What class is that?" Louis prompted.

"Math. Why?"

"You're reading your History book, mate."

Cameron looked up at him, his eyes narrowed and his hand frozen. Then he stared down at his book, shoved it away, and rummaged through the mess on the table for the right one.

Hayden laughed. "Dude, calm down. You look like you have one day to get all of this done. I've never seen you this crammed for time."

"I might as well have one day," he replied as he flipped through chunks of pages to find the right chapter. "There's so much stuff I need to do. First, I have to finish my star map for Astronomy that's due next week, and I've got a stupid Math quiz to study for on Friday—Oh, _shoot_."

Michael stopped with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Friday!" Cameron repeated. He numbly dropped his pen and ran one hand through his hair.

"I swear to God, if you start singing that damn song—" Louis threatened and he waved his hand in the air.

"No, it's just…" Cameron leaned his elbows on the tables and put his head in his hands. "I was trying to work on my homework during first period, and Tony Hart had to remind me about the sing off, and—"

Hayden just about spit out his food. "Why did he remind you about that?"

"He just wanted to know what I was singing," he muttered.

Louis dropped his fork. "Well, damn."

"I should be the one saying that, not you," Cameron said and pointed a finger at him. "You're not the one who has to deal with all of this freaking homework—I mean, look at all of this! There's probably ten trees right here!" He gestured wildly to it. "And to top it all off, I've got to sing against Ian on Friday, which I'm not looking forward to _at all_."

"Then why did you put your name down in the first place?" Michael said.

Cameron shut his eyes and rested his head on the table. "I don't know, I was just being stupid and confident, and I don't—" He froze in his chair when he felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder.

"Bugger off, Hart. There's no need to be scaring Cameron like that. Not when he looks like a bloody train wreck," Louis quipped through a mouthful.

A chair scraped against the floor next to Cameron and Tony gracefully dropped into it. "Sorry, Louis. I know I'm obviously not needed here, but I was wondering if I could borrow him for a minute." He jokingly tugged at one of Cameron's blonde curls and Cameron jerked away.

"Can you wait until his freak out episode is over?" Hayden asked. "I think he's a little too busy having a panic attack."

"It'll only take a second, I promise," Tony said and held up a finger. He prodded Cameron lightly in the shoulder. "Hey, Cameron."

The sound of his name in Tony's voice was nice, and he said it in a way that almost stretched it out to three syllables instead of just two. Cameron was glad he still had his head down on the table, because he was sure he was scarlet in the face.

"Cameron," Tony said again, "can I ask you one thing?"

He pulled his head up to glare at Tony. "If it's to ask if you can borrow my notes for Math, then no way. You need to learn to take your own notes and pay attention more often and not tap your freaking—"

"I would take my own notes if I had my pen," Tony interrupted.

"Your pen?" Cameron echoed.

He nodded. "You know, the one you stole from me in first period?"

"You came over here to bother me about your stupid pen?" he said furiously. "That's all you're asking about?"

Tony looked thoughtful. "Well, yes. I don't see why else I would come over here."

Cameron swallowed a bitter reply and looked at the table, where the contents of his bag were spilled out. He swept a hand over it. "It's probably in here somewhere. Go nuts."

Hayden stifled a burp of laughter at Tony's flat expression. Without a word, Tony rifled through the supplies, searching under books and handfuls of papers.

Cameron was able to take a deep breath and he leaned back in his seat. Then his brows furrowed. "Where's Roger?"

"Oh, he's in the gym, talking to the coach about his sport stuff," Michael answered, playing with the lid on his water bottle.

"Sport stuff?" Cameron said lamely.

"He does running in the fall and soccer in the spring," Hayden supplied helpfully.

Cameron titled his head tiredly. "He runs and plays soccer?"

"Is there an echo in here, or is it just me?" Tony mumbled at his side.

Cameron smacked him in the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. "I don't need smart comments from you."

Tony raised his hands above his head, and one of them gripped his pen. "I just come over here to take back what's mine and you beat me up. I can't believe you, Cameron Taylor."

"Just leave us alone. We already get enough of you during Warblers, and even that's too much to handle," Louis moaned. Rolling his eyes, Tony mumbled a, "Thanks" to Cameron and crossed the dining hall to his table.

"You know what we need?" Michael suddenly piped up. "We should go see Roger after school today. He has track practice after fourth period."

Hayden stood up with his half-eaten lunch in hand. "You are smart. You going to come with us, Cameron?"

Cameron looked up weakly at him. "What are we doing?"

He shot an amused look to the others, then back at Cameron. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

* * *

The only time Cameron had seen the sports fields was when he had first driven up a few weeks ago. He remembered them as large plains covered in grass the color of emeralds, and they were just that, only with small clumps of boys dotting them. Some were jogging around the track in an even pace and others were stretching, and a mass surrounded the water cooler.

He was sitting out in the back garden when Hayden and the others found him after fourth period. He was in the same place, on the concrete bench, as Tony had been when he'd caught him playing.

"You ready?" Hayden asked.

"Can I take my work with me?" Cameron asked and lifted up his spiral, which contained that night's Math homework.

"Whatever floats your boat," he said and helped him to his feet.

The four boys made their way across the grounds to the track, where they filed into the bleachers and chose a row in the front. Louis hobbled to the railing, his crutches making an irritating metallic sound each time they hit the bleacher floor, and he leaned over the bar to look down at the water cooler.

Some of the boys below raised their paper cups to him and greeted him cheerfully; they were all dressed in mesh shorts and a t-shirt displaying the school's name and logo.

"Any of you seen Roger?" Louis asked.

"Out running," one of the answered, gesturing to the far side of the track, where a few figures jogged.

Louis nodded appreciatively and hobbled back to his seat, laying his crutches on the seat next to him. He placed his hands on his knees and looked at the others. "Well, this is fun, isn't it?"

"Define fun," Michael murmured with his chin in his hands. "All we're going to be doing is watching Roger run around a track for an hour. Where is the fun in that?"

"You're just being a spoil-sport because you have to sit here instead of blowing stuff up in the kitchen," Hayden said, nudging his shoulder.

Michael rolled his eyes. "That is not true."

"I'm with Michael on this one. As much as I love watching Roger, I would sort of enjoy the quiet of my room," Cameron piped up softly. He was scratching out an answer on his worksheet, chewing on the eraser of his pencil as he tried to calculate a new formula that would work.

Louis snorted with laughter. "Please. This is about the quietest place in the entire school, aside from the library, and even then, it gets pretty loud in there when Mrs. Booth yells at her aide for not labeling books correctly."

Cameron tapped his pencil against his chin, not listening as much as he should. "And I thought the library was a peaceful place."

As the boys came around the track, they stopped at the water cooler and filled cups, downing them in mouthfuls. Louis snatched up a crutch and waved it around to catch Roger's attention, and Roger waved back. His auburn hair was damp and plastered to his forehead, his eyes shining.

"So, anything interesting happen today?" Hayden asked to no one in particular.

"I got stalked by Ian Foster on the way to class today," Cameron chipped in. He erased an answer completely before rewriting the problem out. When he got silence as an answer, he looked up and found the others gaping openly at him. "What?"

Michael looked pale enough to pass out. "Ian Foster stalked you?"

"I'm pretty sure that's an offense somewhere in the school code," Louis exclaimed.

"And not to mention creepy," Hayden added with a face.

Cameron shook his head and set aside his spiral, having the feeling that he wasn't going to get much done. "He wasn't really stalking me in the way that would be considered 'stalking.'"

"So he was stalking you," Louis said, his brows furrowing in question, "yet at the same time, he _wasn't _stalking you?"

"How does that work?" Michael asked.

"He followed me to my class and he tried to psych me out a little bit about the sing off on Friday," Cameron interjected with his hands up in defense.

Hayden squinted his eyes. "What exactly did he say to you?"

"He just asked me where I moved from, and if I really did switch out of public school, and if I knew what song I was going to sing for Friday. Little things like that."

Louis put his face in his hands and simply shook his head back and forth, as if he was mourning the loss of a family member.

Cameron watched them closely. "It really wasn't that big of a deal. I don't see what the problem is."

Hayden swallowed what sounded like a cough. "Not that big of a deal? It's not that big of a deal when your hamster dies or when you break a leg—sorry, Louis—but when you get followed in the hallway by Ian Foster, _that is a big deal_."

"What is so important about that? He was just talking to me and asking me questions. Yes, I got annoyed because of it, but no, he wasn't exactly pushing me against a wall and beating my face in," he said. "So I don't take it as that big of a problem."

"He psyches everyone out. He can do that with just a _glare_," Louis moaned from his hands.

"Ian likes to frighten the competition," Michael put in helpfully when he saw Cameron's wondrous expression. "It's just his thing that he does. He thinks that maybe if you dwell on it, you're going to want to back out."

Cameron glowered at him. "There is no way some guy like Ian Foster is going to talk me out of a sing off," he scoffed.

Hayden rolled his eyes at the others, then looked back at Cameron. "You have no idea. Last year, some boy from West challenged him—that was actually when we had guys from all four wings in the Warblers—so he challenged Ian and Ian went out of his way to talk to him the entire week and by the time Friday came, he'd backed out."

"It's awful, just awful," Louis said, finally pulling his hands from his face. His glasses were smudged with fingerprints.

"And we are not over-exaggerating," Michael said before Cameron could get a word in. "Trust me, we know Ian enough that we don't get freaked out as easily, but with you being a… well, a new kid, you're his fresh meat."

Cameron gritted his teeth and reached for his spiral and pencil again. "Wonderful. Just wonderful."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly takes interest in you," Hayden said lowly. He watched as Roger lined up at the white chalked line with three other boys, ready to start with the signal from the coach.

"What does that mean? Oh, gosh, you make it sound like he's actually a stalker."

Hayden glanced at him insistently. "He is, I swear! When we first met, he stole all my music from my folio on the first day of school and told everyone to not make me copies of their music. He's had it out for me ever since."

"Great," Cameron said, stretching the word out. "Does that mean he's going to start pranking me now?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Just be sure to keep your room locked at all times and you're good for the most part," Louis said.

With a horrified expression, Cameron leaned around the two others to stare oddly at him. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Guard up," he replied shortly. "Always keep your guard up."

"Speaking of keeping your guard up," Hayden said as a small shot rang out, and Roger and the others burst away from the white line, "you should keep it up when Tony's around. What was the whole thing with him at lunch today? Not that we don't enjoy his presence—"

"And we really don't. Really."

"—but all for a pen? Is that right?"

Even in the cool air, Cameron felt his face grow warm. He scribbled against the margin on his paper. "I kind of, um, stole his pen during first period today," he said, "but it was for a good reason! He kept tapping on his desk and that's one of my pet peeves."

"And you didn't think to give it back to him?" Louis asked.

He shrugged. "Not really. Not until he came up to us and pretty much demanded it back."

"You have the oddest pet peeves."

"Pencil tapping annoys everyone, Louis. Except the ones who tap," Hayden said.

Louis ignored him and looked over Cameron. "But seriously, keep the pen stealing to a minimum. We don't want to draw him over to our table so much to the point where he feels somewhat comfortable."

"And if you're going to steal his pen," Michael said, "give it back to him at the end of the period, or something."

"Actually, just don't steal his pen at all. Avoid all confrontation with him if possible—"

Cameron furiously set down his spiral. "What is with you guys and me talking to him? I don't see the harm in that."

His exclamation had stunned the boys into silence, and they shared glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Instead of replying all at once, they simply stared at the track, watching Roger run, in a way that made Cameron uneasy.

"Am I getting the silent treatment now? Is that it?" Cameron huffed when no one answered him and he slammed his spiral shut. He loaded his things into his bag and slipped it over his shoulder. "Tell Roger that I wish I could've stayed for the whole thing, but that I had homework to attend to."

With that, he trudged out of the bleachers and started across the green.

* * *

When he arrived at the back garden by the dorms, his bag was wearing at his shoulders and he plopped down onto the concrete bench. By now, the sun was just slipping past the horizon, painting the sky with pinks, oranges, and yellows. He leaned back onto his hands and looked up.

The tree branches were long and slim and loomed over him, almost bare of leaves. The trunk was gnarled and thick, and a faded rope hung from one of the branches, as if something had swung there once.

It was simple to imagine how the garden could be beautiful in the spring: the bushes along the wall across from him could easily bloom with small flowers, and the tree's leaves would grow back, full and green and lush. Just thinking about it, Cameron could almost smell pollen.

There was a slight shift in the air and something snapped, making him sit up straight. His eyes went directly to where the pathway ended. A moment later Tony appeared, walking toward him with his guitar slung over his shoulder and a flashlight in one hand.

He was banging the head of the flashlight to make it flicker on and off when he noticed Cameron sitting there.

"You're in my spot," he said tiredly, letting his arms fall to his sides. His face was flat, and he didn't seem remotely surprised to see Cameron there.

Cameron fidgeted and stood up instantly. "Sorry, I was just coming back from the track and—"

"I was kidding," Tony said, stepping forward. "Calm down, will you? You're acting like I was going to shoot you, or something."

"Well, you scared me," he replied lamely as he grabbed his bag from the bench.

Tony watched him, amused. "I _scared _you?"

"I wasn't expecting you, so of course you scared me!" Cameron threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

"Then I apologize for scaring you," he said with a laugh. He dug in the pocket of his slacks for a moment and pulled his hand out, holding it out to Cameron. "You might need these."

Cameron stared warily at his hand. "What is that?"

Tony turned his hand over and spread his fingers, revealing a handful of silver metal bolts. "Your car has some very nice wheel locks. I always thought Nissans weren't very good cars, but yours is actually pretty nice—"

"How do you know what my car looks like?" he practically shrieked. He scrambled to swipe the bolts from Tony's hand, but they scattered to the ground and he only got a hold of a few. He stooped to his knees to pick up the rest.

"I found Nate and Lucas out in the parking lot with a wrench, pulling off the bolts from the tires. Plus, your car is the newest car in the lot and frankly, it's a hell of a lot nicer than everyone else's. Even Markus doesn't have that nice of a car," Tony replied, getting to his knees as well so they were face-to-face. He picked a bolt from the dirt and brushed it off.

Cameron narrowed his eyes at him, ignoring the blush that was on his cheeks. "What were they doing? Lucas and Ian."

"They were trying to get the rims off, as a joke."

"A joke?" he repeated, his voice raising. "How is that a joke? That's stealing!"

He shrugged one shoulder and brushed the dirt off his knees when he stood up. "They wouldn't steal car rims. They just like to mess with the new Warblers as they come in. You're no different." He held out the bolts.

Cameron took them carefully so as to not drop them again. They felt heavy in his hands. "And where are they right now? Are they still out in the parking lot—?"

"Relax, I took them into Markus for it and everything. They're not messing with it right now," Tony assured. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I actually just came from there, so that's why I have the bolts. You might want to get them back on as soon as possible."

"Thank you," he said stiffly, "but you didn't have to do that."

Tony looked incredulously at him. "Why not? They were stealing stuff off your car—"

"You said they were playing a prank!" Cameron jabbed a finger at him.

"Okay, maybe they also considering stealing as a prank," he said, "but that's beside the point. I just thought you would appreciate it if I helped you out a little, instead of you going out to find your rims gone."

Cameron shrunk back and he loaded the bolts into his pockets. "Thank you, I guess. Now all I have to do is figure out how on Earth to put them back on…"

"I happen to be very skilled in the mechanics of cars," Tony hinted faintly, picking dirt from under his nails. There was a slight grin on his face.

"If you can work a wrench, that's all I care about." He waved a hand in front of his face.

Tony smiled at him. "That, I can do."

Behind them came a voice that shouted, "Hey, Cam! You missed it! Roger completely did a face plant, and—"

Cameron turned to see Hayden and Roger coming toward them, with Louis and Michael behind them. Roger was drenched in either water or sweat and his face was a healthy shade of pink, with the addition of a red scrape on one cheek. They all stopped walking and their eyes flickered from Cameron to Tony.

"Tony Hart. What a surprise to see you here," Louis said flatly.

"Likewise," Tony remarked without missing a beat.

Hayden pursed his lips. "So Cameron, you definitely missed Roger face planting. He was running the mile with a couple of the others, and he just sits there for a minute like he can't believe he actually fell, and then he gets up and beats them all to the finish line when he was, like, a lap behind," he said in a jittery voice.

"I wasn't that far behind," Roger muttered, kicking the ground with his toe.

"Whatever, you still won," he shot back.

They all stood in a long moment of silence, with Cameron feeling nervous standing between them all.

"Well," Tony said finally, "I would love to stay and chat with you all, but I've got a date with a green Nissan out in the parking lot."

Michael raised his chin. "Cameron, isn't that your car?"

"Yes," he said, but it came out sounding like a question. He folded his hands together in front of him and the bolts in his pockets seemed to weigh him over to one side.

"You better get on that, then. A date with a car isn't something to miss," Louis said with a glare at Tony.

Tony stepped forward to stand beside Cameron, almost casually, and Cameron wanted to hit him. His arms were folded over his chest and he brushed violet hair from his eyes. He nodded once.

"We'll see you inside, Cameron," Hayden said tautly and he grabbed Roger's arm. "We need to treat this guy before his scrape gets infected."

Roger sighed loudly. "Aw, Hayden, come on. It didn't even break _skin_."

As they walked back to the dorms, Louis glancing back at them every few seconds, Cameron chewed the inside of his thumb. He felt Tony nudge his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"We better get to work on your car before it gets too dark," he said, gesturing to the fading sky. He waved the flashlight. "Good thing I brought this."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Cameron had the trunk of his car open and was sitting on the end, swinging his legs back and forth idly. The sky had gone almost dark and the lamps in the parking lot had turned on, but didn't give enough light.

Tony's flashlight sat on the concrete as he worked, a wrench in his hands. Metallic clinks followed every time a bolt was screwed in properly. He sat with his legs crossed, Indian style, on the concrete.

When they had gotten to the lot, the rims had been still in place on the tires, but loosely. No other damage was done to the car, to Cameron's immense relief.

"So you keep a wrench in the trunk of your car," Cameron mused, looking down at him. In the near darkness, his hair looked black instead of purple.

"I do," Tony agreed. He gave the wrench a jerk and another bolt clicked into place.

He leaned back on his hands. "Why?"

"For cases like this." Tony gestured to the wheel with the wrench. "And wrenches also make very good weapons, so that's another reason to keep it."

Cameron froze. "You use that thing for a weapon?"

He snorted out a laugh. "Of course. Have you seen this thing? It's like a full-blown baseball bat."

"That sounds sort of…" Cameron wrinkled his nose.

"Awesome?"

"Weird."

He shrugged. "Well, when you're in a pinch, it's the next best thing."

"Thank you for doing this," Cameron stated. He pulled his legs to his chest and stared at the sea of cars in front of him. "I don't think I would've been up to calling someone out to screw these back on."

"Or you could've just called me out here."

He glanced at him. "I didn't know you knew how to do this kind of stuff until now."

"Touché."

"How _do _you know how to do this?" Cameron asked.

Tony got to his feet and picked up a few bolts, moving to the other side of the car to work on the third wheel. "My dad used to work at a garage when he was in college. He taught me a few things when I was fourteen, or so."

Cameron nodded in understanding. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, with the clicks of the wrench accompanying it.

"So," he said after what seemed like an eternity, "when did your dad become the superintendent?"

The metallic clicks stopped and Tony leaned around the side of the car to stare at him. "How do you know that my dad is the superintendent?"

"Hayden told me," Cameron said casually, but his voice sounded taut.

Tony made a face and ducked around the car to finish screwing on another bolt. He retrieved the last handful and started to work on the final tire.

"And I'm sorry about what happened to your mom."

This time, there was a loud clatter that made Cameron jump. Tony had dropped the wrench on the concrete and was moving to stand in front of him. The darkness cast his features into darkness, yet Cameron could still feel his piercing gaze. Cameron inched back into the trunk slightly.

"Everyone's already given me their pity. I don't need yours," Tony said in an even voice.

Cameron sat up. "Don't be cross with me. I just telling you that—"

"I don't care if you're sorry or not. I know you want to offer your condolences," he said, taking a small step toward him, "but I don't need it. I've already gotten it before, and I don't need it now." He turned sharply and resumed screwing bolts to the tire.

Cameron's heart hammered against his rib cage and he let out a long sigh.

"Did Hayden tell you that, too?" Tony's voice came a moment later.

"Yeah," he breathed. He picked at his lip.

"So I'm guessing you got my full biography?"

Cameron hopped out of the trunk and slammed it shut. "Sort of. He told me you had brown hair before you started dying it."

Tony pushed himself to his feet, the wrench limp in one hand. His lips were flattened into a line. "That's true," he mused. "But I prefer the colors of the rainbow instead of just brown."

"How do you get away with that?" he asked, stepping out of the way to let him pass.

"My dad lets me," Tony said as he walked to a worn truck parked a few spaces away. He reached into the bed for a metal box and he tossed the wrench into it, making a horrible clash that made Cameron grit his teeth.

Cameron stared at him as he came back. "And that's it? Because your dad lets you?"

"Well, I wouldn't be able to do it otherwise." He yanked his bag off the ground and shrugged it over his shoulder. "You're welcome for fixing your tires."

"Oh, thanks," he mumbled in reply. He rubbed the back of his neck. "But really—"

Tony raised an eyebrow and held up the flashlight. "But really what?"

"I'm sorry about your mom," Cameron said quietly.

"Stop saying that!" His voice rose suddenly.

Cameron froze in his place, a deer in headlights. He felt his hands go numb.

"Look," Tony said lowly. He took a dangerous step forward, and the dimly-lit street lamps cast eerie shadows on his frame. "I know you're new here and you don't know what the heck is going on, but you need to back off. I know you're a senior and you're the same age as every other senior here, but back off. I don't need you giving me sympathy. I don't need you giving me anything at all."

"I just wanted to—" Cameron squeaked.

The wrench fell from Tony's hand and clattered sharply against the pavement; it made Cameron jump and take a step back.

"I don't care what you just wanted to do," Tony snapped. He paused and ran a hand through his hair. "Just… Lay off. I don't want you asking about it. I don't want you giving me pity because I don't need it. I don't need it from anyone, you especially."

Cameron straightened his posture. "And why not from me?"

"Because you don't know anything. I know you're in East and you probably have an IQ of 160, but you don't know me." Tony bent down and picked up the wrench.

"Maybe because you won't talk to me," Cameron said sharply.

Tony slowly stood up. "I don't need to tell some fresh meat everything. I don't ask to know everything about you, and you should do the same."

"Come on," he said quietly. There was a beat of silence, and he heard the whirl of cars racing down the highway in the distance. "Just give me a break. I just said I was sorry about your mom—"

"You need to stay out of my business unless I say so," Tony said lowly, almost a growl. He gripped the wrench so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

Cameron licked his lips and looked past Tony to the dorm building, where some of the windows were lit. "Okay. I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your help." Tony gripped his wrench and turned on his heel, flicking the flashlight off as he left the parking lot.

Cameron stood in the dimly-lit parking lot, staring at where Tony disappeared, until his phone buzzed suddenly in his pocket. He scrambled for it and blinked at the brightness of the screen.

"Hey, dude. Where are you?" Hayden said when Cameron answered the phone.

"I-I'm in the library," Cameron answered shakily; his heart was slamming against his ribcage.

"What are you doing in the library?"

Cameron licked his lips and started walking towards the dorms, tripping over small dips in the grass and a bump in the concrete. "Trying to find something to read."

"Typical," Hayden muttered under his breath. "Well, hurry up. We're going to start this TV show that none of us have seen before, and we're waiting on you."

"What show is it?" he asked.

It sounded like Hayden took the phone away from his ear to ask one of the others. "It's called Sherlock."

A smile immediately broke out on Cameron's face and he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. "Huh. That sounds interesting. What channel is it on?"

"It's not on TV anymore, but Louis brought it up on Netflix. He said it was BBC."

Cameron's grin tipped up on one side. "I'll be right there. Let me put these books back and I'll be right there."

* * *

The digital clock on the bureau said nearly six o'clock in the morning. Light was starting to sift into the room through the slots on the blinds and trace faint lines on the floor. The projector was still whirring lightly, as it had been since nine last night.

Cameron was crashed on one of the beds, almost hanging off. He kept dozing off and on between episodes of Sherlock, which was a six-episode series that lasted an hour and a half each episode.

But he was the only one who was even remotely close to asleep. The other four boys were huddled on the floor in front of the screen, clutching pillows to their chests. They never paused between episodes to eat or use the bathroom; they went straight through all the episodes, and were currently on the last bit of the sixth and final episode.

Cameron, who was in somewhat of a daze, curled on his side and tucked his face into a pillow. What he hadn't told his friends was that he'd already seen—and cried over—Sherlock and the tragic end. He'd already gone through the torture of watching the dreaded fall over and over again, and he didn't mind if he missed seeing it happen.

As he half listened to the boys murmur about what was going to happen, his mind wandered. He couldn't help but think about what Tony had told him the night before, how he'd snapped about his mother, who'd passed away from a battle with cancer. He couldn't get Tony's voice out of his head; it was constantly replaying, over and over, telling Cameron to stay out of his business.

Then a collective shriek made Cameron shoot straight up in bed. He gave a shriek himself and scrambled to his feet.

"What? What's going on?" he demanded in a sleepy voice.

"The fall! What the hell is this sh—" Louis started.

"What just happened?" Hayden shouted, grappling to his feet to stare at the screen. The show was paused, showing a figure flattened against the pavement and a blur of blues, grays, and blacks. "Oh, my god! What the hell?"

Roger flopped onto his back and rubbed his face. "Please tell me he didn't just jump off that building."

"And what about Moriarty?" Michael added shrilly. "He freaking jammed the gun in his mouth and shot himself! What the hell was that?"

Cameron let himself relax and he ran a hand through his tangled hair. "Oh, right. Moriarty and Sherlock commit suicide. I forgot to warn you guys about that."

All four boys whipped around to face him. "WHAT?"

"What?" Cameron held his hands up in defense. "Why are you guys all looking at me like that?"

"Have you already seen this show?" Roger asked, to which Cameron nodded once.

"You knew how it was going to end and you didn't _tell _us?" Hayden shouted.

Cameron blinked. "Could you be any louder? You're probably going to wake up some of the others—"

"Screw the others!" Louis declared, hobbling to his feet without his crutches. "How could you not tell us how it ended? You would've saved us from a whole lot of heartbreak and tears!"

Cameron pointed at him. "Hey. You guys made me go through seasons one and two of Doctor Who, just so I could see Rose leave. You didn't tell me my OTP was going to get ripped apart, so I figured I would let you see what put me in a state of depression for two weeks after it ended!"

Michael screamed into a pillow, then brought his head up. "This isn't how it's supposed to end!"

"You know, there's still maybe fifteen minutes left of this episode," Cameron pointed out.

Hayden rolled his eyes, but reached for the remote. "Oh, great. Are there more exciting plot twists and heartbreaking deaths to come in the next fifteen minutes?"

"No. Stop freaking out," Cameron answered tiredly. He flopped back down onto the bed. "Just finish watching it."

The four boys complied, and unpaused the show. For the next fifteen minutes, they stared at the screen. Michael looked close to tears, but Louis looked close to breaking something.

The moment the episode ended, Hayden slammed a pillow against his face. "He's _alive_?"

"He's alive," Cameron confirmed dully.

"Why did you let us go through a freak out moment, only to not tell us he was still alive?" Roger demanded.

Cameron slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom. "Because this is payback for sticking stars all over my stuff. Now, come on. It's almost 6:30 and I'm going to get ready for class. Anyone who wants hot water for their shower better get in line behind me."

* * *

_In the next chapter: Cameron competes in the infamous sing off and gets into another mess with Tony while trying to deal with the stresses of school._


	6. Sing-Off Day Suspense

Hello, readers.

Sorry for such a late update. I just got back into school (WOO SENIOR!) and things are already hectic. I wish I would've been able to post something yesterday or a few days ago, but the time simply slipped away from me.

Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well. On the other hand, I'm stressed, stressed, stressed. I've got a lot of classes to deal with (including one with my boyfriend's ex...) and a lot of work to deal with, not to mention marching band after school.

So yeah. That was a really short update on my life. Anyway, please enjoy this next chapter. Again, sorry for not getting around sooner to post it. Things just get in the way.

Reviews would be lovely!

* * *

**Sing-Off Day Suspense**

* * *

The day of the sing off found Cameron leaning over the counter in the kitchen with a flask in one hand, goggles over his eyes, and a smock draped over his uniform. He was studying something on a scrap of paper that Michael had written down for him earlier and he poured what was in the flask into a large beaker.

He had hardly slept at all the night before. Instead he had worked a little on the star map that was due soon for his Astronomy class as Hayden snored noisily, and he had glanced at the sky through his telescope. The nerves had tugged and yanked at his stomach, making him feel nauseous and edgy.

Now he glanced at Michael's writing, grabbed a small test tube of white powder, and emptied it over the beaker. It produced a fizzing noise, followed by bubbling slightly over the edge. It subsided a moment later and he let out a relieved sigh.

The sun had not come up over the horizon yet and the sky was still dark. With the curtains pulled back from the windows, the sports fields were easily seen, and so was the garden at the back of the school. Cameron stopped midway through reaching for a pair of tongs when he noticed this and he walked over to the windows.

In the dim lighting, the garden had an almost eerie appeal to it, making the branches of the tree seem long and crooked; a worn rope hung from one of the branches. The concrete bench was still there, and so were the stones that outlined the garden. The only addition was the shadow wandering around the tree.

Instinctively Cameron ducked behind the curtains. But then, once he realized that whoever was outside would have no chance of seeing him, he peeked out the window again. The figure had something bulky attached to his back and he circled the tree again before sitting down on the bench. It was Tony.

He and Tony hadn't spoken since the night Tony screwed the wheel locks back onto his car. Even in math, when Tony usually prodded Cameron in the back and tapped his pen on his desk for no reason, he was abnormally silent. He hadn't made eye contact with Cameron at lunch or during choir. Even though the quarrel had only been barely two days ago, to Cameron, it felt like months.

"Cameron? What are you doing up? It's six in the morning."

Cameron jumped away from the windows and glanced back at the doors to see Roger leaning against the counter.

"I was just…" he started, then paused. "I couldn't sleep and I didn't know what else to do, and Michael gave me some instructions for a mixture he wanted me to try," he said as he went over to the counter and held up Michael's paper, "and I just—"

"So you aren't nervous for today? Not at all?" Roger asked. He looked at the chemicals on the counter.

Cameron swallowed, hard. "Yes, I am. I'm a complete idiot for thinking I could do this, Roger." He buried his face in his hands.

"Please tell me you at least have a song ready," he said.

"I do, but—"

"If you have something prepared," Roger said, "you'll be fine. Stay with that and I think you're going to survive. Do you want any coffee? I've got a pot brewing in my room right now."

Cameron stared at him oddly. "Coffee?"

"Yeah, it's that drink with the caffeine that helps you stay awake," he said jokingly.

"I know what coffee is." He covered the beaker and pulled his goggles and smock off, hanging both up accordingly. Running a hand through his hair, he followed Roger out of the kitchen and down the hall.

"So why are you awake?" Cameron asked as they walked.

Roger stretched his arms over his head. "Couldn't sleep. I tried to finish a report for English, but when I did, it was four in the morning, and I thought, 'I don't need any sleep, I have to get up in a few hours for class anyway. Might as well stay up.' So I was reading until now."

"Oh." Cameron shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Are you ready for today?" He stopped in front of his room and pushed the door open, and the rich smell of coffee hit Cameron full on.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Cameron sighed. He shut the door behind him and took the mug of coffee that Roger offered him. "And who knows? Maybe Ian will have a bad day and crack, or something. Oh, wait. Am I supposed to be quiet?"

Cameron gestured to the lump in the covers on the second bed, the lump that was Louis, who was currently snoring loudly.

"Don't worry about him. He's like you: you could set off fireworks and he wouldn't wake up," Roger told him, waving a hand at the sleeping Louis. "Anyway, Ian never has a bad day. I swear, he's superhuman."

"How so?"

Roger took another sip and wandered over to his desk chair, sitting down. He kicked his feet up onto his desk and Cameron had to resist the urge to tell him not to. "He is basically indestructible. In our sophomore year, he came back from a weekend hiking trip with his parents with half his face in stitches and a limp, all the week before Sectionals. But he was able to pull off leading the group in our entire program."

"Did you win that year?" he asked.

"No. Need I remind you we haven't gone to Sectionals in two years?"

Cameron nodded once. "Oh, right." He was silent for a few moments. "So Ian is pretty much the glue that holds the Warblers together?"

"In a way, yes," Roger said. He spun himself around in his chair. "He may be a complete jackass that wants to ruin everyone's lives with a single stare, which could burn down buildings and entire cities within hours," he said, "but he's one hell of a singer."

Cameron swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "That doesn't really make me feel any better about today, you know."

Roger bit his lip. "Oops. Sorry."

"It's fine. I think I'll get out of it without too much trauma," he sighed, cradling his mug in his hands. He dropped his head, letting his curls frame his face.

"The most he can do to you is humiliate you." Roger stood up slowly and downed what was left in his mug. "It's not like he'll whip out a sword and chop your head off in the middle of your audition."

Cameron stared flatly at him and placed his half-empty mug on his bureau. "Thanks," he said blandly, "I'll try to not think about that." He turned and walked out the door, curling his fingers in so that his nails dug into his palms.

* * *

When he walked into first period nearly two hours later, he was exhausted. He stifled a yawn as he crossed the room to his seat and he dropped his bag on the floor.

"Rough night, huh?"

Cameron jumped at the sound of Tony's voice and he turned around to face him. For a moment, he was caught off guard by the way Tony was smiling, and he said, "What?"

"You look tired, that's all. Worried about today?" He leaned back and tapped the end of his pen against the table—_tap, tap, tap. _That annoying tapping and the first words to come from Tony's mouth were all Cameron needed to calm down. Tony had been completely silent the day before, and to see him back to his old self—or what Cameron knew as his old self—was comforting.

"You're the third person to remind me of that," Cameron groaned and he put his elbow against his desk.

During breakfast, Hayden had dug through a plate of scrambled eggs, a bowl of fruit, half of Michael's cinnamon roll, and four glasses of orange juice, all out of anxiety. It was clear that he was fretting about the sing off, and he'd asked Cameron several times if he was nervous, too.

Tony twirled his pen between his fingers. "Sorry. I was just asking."

Cameron sighed. "And yes, I'm worried. I kind of have a feeling I'll open my mouth and no words will come out, or I'll be halfway through singing and then my breakfast will come up."

"I've had worse things happen to me," he said and he leaned forward, far enough that Cameron could smell the faint hint of cinnamon on his uniform. "When I tried out for the Warblers my freshman year, I started with one song and then halfway through, I switched to another song."

"Really? And how did you manage to accomplish that?" Cameron asked, swallowing a laugh.

"Honestly, I have no idea," he admitted. When he tilted his head to the side, a lock of purple hair fell in front of his eyes and he combed it back behind his ear. "I think it was because I was trying to choose between two songs to sing for the audition, and the second one popped into my head when I was already singing the first one. I honestly don't know." He rested his chin on his hands and looked up at Cameron. "So what song are you singing?"

Cameron chewed the inside of his cheek. "You're going to have to wait and see."

"No hints?"

"No hints."

"Excuse me, boys. I'd like to get to teaching," Mr. Hayes said gruffly from the front of the room. He tapped his long ruler against the white board, gesturing to what he'd written already, and gave them a stern look.

Cameron whipped around in his seat and rummaged for his spiral, his face feeling warm. As soon as Mr. Hayes launched into his lesson, he felt a tap on his shoulder and he hesitated in turning around. But before he could, a small triangle of paper flew over his shoulder and landed on his desk, in the middle of his spiral.

Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder at Tony, and Tony only mouthed, "Read it."

Cameron turned in his seat and, with another glance at the professor, he slowly unfolded the paper, wincing when it crackled softly. In the middle of the paper, in Tony's chicken scratch handwriting, it said: _Would you rather continue our oh-so-interesting conversation on paper so that Hayes doesn't yell at us again?_

For a long moment, he stared at the paper and his hand twitched, itching to write. He scribbled out a reply: _Fine. But if we get into any more trouble, I'm blaming it all on you._

He slipped the paper onto the corner of Tony's desk and continued to take notes. It was a few minutes before he received a reply, and the small scrap of paper landed in front of him again.

_Okay, I'll play scapegoat for now. So, no hints? Positive?_

Cameron rolled his eyes and he added his answer: _No, not at all. And for now? What does that mean? Are you saying that I'll play scapegoat later on in time?_

Tony wrote back once Mr. Hayes had finished teaching the lesson: _If you want to be the scapegoat next time, by all means, go ahead. And fine, if you're not going to tell me what you're singing, at least tell me what genre it is._

When the door clicked shut and murmuring filled the room, Cameron looked up. Mr. Hayes was absent from his desk, having left the room. Cameron turned around in his seat, ignoring the bookwork that had been assigned.

"It's alternative," he answered shortly.

Tony leaned forward on his elbows, the light catching his hair. "What is?"

"The song I'm singing for the sing off," Cameron said. "You asked me what genre it was, since I wouldn't tell you the exact song."

He nodded and drew loopy circles on the corner of his notes, which were scrawled in an almost illegible handwriting. "Is that your favorite kind of music? Alternative?"

Cameron traced the grooves in the wood of Tony's desk with the tip of his finger and his eyes flickered between him and the door. "No, not really. I prefer country over everything else."

"Country?" Tony repeated, stopping his doodling.

"Yes. Why? What's wrong with country?"

Tony shook his head and looked back down at his paper. "Nothing. I just imagined you having a different preference of music, that's all. Country seems a little too… outdoorsy for you, Cameron, and to be honest, you do not strike me as the outdoorsy type."

"Just because I like country music doesn't mean I have to be 'outdoorsy,'" Cameron said briskly. "If you liked classical music, I wouldn't say you looked like the classical type."

"Good. Because I don't like classical."

He pursed his lips. "Okay then."

Tony didn't seem to hear it, or if he did, he ignored it. "Favorite color?"

Cameron narrowed his eyes at him. "My favorite color?"

"Yes, it's the hue taken from the spectrum of colors that you like the best."

"I know what you mean by 'favorite color.'"

He tilted his head to the side. "Then why did you question it?"

"Because it's so simple," Cameron supplied. He pulled his spiral into his lap and began to work a problem, but stopped halfway through when Tony answered.

"What? Would you like me to ask questions that pertain to your deepest, darkest secrets? Or maybe why you seem so uptight all the time?"

Cameron put down his pencil to glare at him, but his expression softened. "Am I really uptight?"

Tony nodded shortly. "Just a little."

"Well, you would be, too, if you'd just moved across the country and were trying to settle into a new school," he muttered. He snatched up his pencil and started to made dark circles between the lines of his notebook paper.

"Is that what that's about? Cameron, you've been here for three weeks," Tony said, sighing. "Don't you think you're the least bit settled in?"

"Physically, I'm about as settled in as you could possibly be," Cameron said quietly. He started writing numbers down, but stopped, going over them with his pencil to make them darker. "But I suppose you're right; I should be settled in. But it's a little hard to do that when you switch time zones. I'm still jetlagged, I think."

Tony made a noise that sounded like a laugh. He scooted to the edge of his seat and he completely ignored his work.

"Don't laugh at me. You would be dead tired if you had to fly across the country and switch time zones and move to a new house and a new school," he scolded.

"I would," Tony said, "but that doesn't really apply to me."

"Shut up. You know, working on homework would be a lot easier if you didn't interrupt me all the time." Cameron nearly snapped the tip of his pencil against the paper as he wrote out another problem. The one before it probably didn't have the correct answer, just like the one before that; there was no way he could concentrate with someone talking to him.

Tony brushed hair from his face. "Oh, I'm so sorry I put a speed bump on your intelligence. What do you have in this class? An A?"

Cameron hesitated and he guiltily looked up at him from beneath long lashes. "An A plus, but that's beside the point."

"You're kidding me. This is an advanced class, and you pretty much have a perfect score?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I work with numbers a lot. This kind of stuff comes easily to me," he said as he wrote out the next equation.

"And how exactly do you work with numbers a lot? Do you balance check books in your spare time?" Tony asked humorously.

Finally Cameron shut his spiral and placed it on his desk with his pencil, turning almost completely around in his seat to face him. He was aware that Mr. Hayes was staring at him from across the room, but nothing was said.

"Actually, I study Astronomy in my spare time. I take the class that Dalton offers for it, and there's a lot of numbers in that, believe it or not. Every single day, I calculate the orbits of planets, the masses of certain stars and galaxies, the geometry of warped space around a black hole, the differential equations governing the production of hydrogen gas in a specific galaxy, and, above all that," he said, running out of breath, "I determine the error in my own measurements. And that, Tony Hart, is how I work with numbers a lot."

All Tony could do was openly gape at him, his lips parted a little. His eyes were narrowed in a way that little crinkles appeared at the corners and his gaze burned a hole in Cameron's forehead.

"Are you going to sit there and stare at me all class period, or are you going to come up with a coherent reply?" Cameron asked, suddenly feeling too outspoken.

All Tony did was nod with a jittery motion of his head and he snatched up his pen to start writing, avoiding Cameron's eyes. "You should show me some of that sometime. It sounds pretty interesting, all the stars and space and stuff."

"Yeah, it is," Cameron said warily. He waited for Tony to chime in with another sarcastic reply or something completely unrelated to what they were talking about, but all Tony did was scribble numbers on his paper.

Cameron simply turned back around in his seat and for the rest of the class period, there was silence.

* * *

"Anthony, Cameron," Mr. Hayes said from his desk after the bell had rung and the classroom was empty, "I would like to talk to both of you."

Cameron raised an eyebrow and stopped loading his back to look back at Tony, who shrugged. He pulled his bag onto his strap and crossed the room to Mr. Hayes' desk, and Tony was at his side a moment later. He couldn't help but notice how short he felt standing next to the other boy.

Mr. Hayes folded his hands on his desk. "Boys, I would like to talk to you about a few things that I've noticed the past few weeks. I'm not sure you both realize this, but your constant talking during class is quite a distraction."

Tony stifled a laugh, but smoothed his expression and nodded. "We're sorry, sir. We'll keep it quiet."

"I would hope so, because if not, I'll have to separate you," he replied sternly.

"We won't be a trouble anymore, sir," Cameron said obediently.

Mr. Hayes nodded. "That's good to hear. Now, the other thing," he said, and he directed his stern gaze to Tony. "Anthony, I would—"

"It's Tony, sir," Tony interrupted.

Mr. Hayes raised an eyebrow and he sat up straighter. "Excuse me?"

"I would prefer to be called Tony, not Anthony," he rephrased quietly.

"I'll take that into account… Tony. Now, as I was saying. The past few weeks, I've been keeping track of your grade in this class," he said. "Actually, I've been keeping track on both of your grades." He looked over at Cameron. "Tony, yours has been falling, and Cameron, yours has been staying the same. As a matter of fact, yours is the highest out of all three of my classes at this moment."

Cameron felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "Oh, wow."

"'Oh, wow' is right," Mr. Hayes said with a slight smile. "So I have a proposition for both of you: Cameron, I would like you to tutor Tony until midterms in a few weeks, or until his grade rises higher than a B."

Tony blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Tutor him?" Cameron repeated stiffly, and he pointed at Tony. "I have to tutor him?"

Mr. Hayes smiled, bittersweet. "You don't _have _to, Cameron. You _get _to."

"If this is some sort of punishment you had in mind for me because of something I did to offend you in any way," Cameron said, shaking his head, "then I'd rather take detention."

Tony looked over at him, furrowing his brows. "Am I that bad that you don't want to tutor me?"

"If your grades were high enough and if you actually did your homework, then I wouldn't have to tutor you," he said back.

"Cameron does have a point," Mr. Hayes said. "But I'm not changing my mind. Cameron, I would like you to tutor Tony until midterms, or until his grade rises to meet my standards."

Tony leaned his head back, then looked at the professor. "Why is this such a big deal? It's not like my grade is actually that low—"

"You're failing. Actually, you're the only student out of all my classes that is failing," he said flatly. "Believe me, I'm not doing this for my sake, I'm doing this for yours. Would you rather see a B on a report card instead of an F?"

"Yes, but—"

"And what would your father think if he saw that you were failing?" Mr. Hayes raised an eyebrow at him.

Tony put his head in one hand and inhaled slowly. "He would probably wonder why I was even going to school if I didn't learn anything."

"Exactly. So it's settled." He pushed away from his desk and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a manila folder. Leafing through it, he pulled out a blank sheet and handed it to Cameron. "This is a form to fill out whenever you and Tony have a tutoring session. Record the date, the time, how long it lasted, and whether it was productive or not."

Tony pointed a finger at the paper. "Is that really necessary? A sheet?"

"Actually, it is. I believe Cameron is one of my most trustworthy students," Mr. Hayes said highly, "so I have no doubts that everything he puts on this sheet will be one hundred percent true. And if it's not, it will show through in your grade, Tony."

"I'm sorry, sir, but is there no way you can tutor him?" Cameron questioned.

"I would, most definitely I would, but I think Tony would listen to you more than he listens to me."

Cameron flushed and he saw Tony look at him from the corner of his eye. Finally he met the other boy's eyes. "This isn't so bad, if you really look at it," he said diffidently.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. Say I agree. What happens after?"

Mr. Hayes chuckled. "Why, you get a shiny, new grade on your report card to replace the one you currently have, and you would pass this class at the end of the semester. And I would agree, if I were you. Your father would not approve of his only son failing a class."

"Okay, okay," Tony mumbled and he rubbed the back of his head.

"I expect to see that sheet filled from top to bottom, Cameron. Make sure Tony stays on top of his work," Mr. Hayes said strictly.

Cameron bobbed his head and carefully folded the paper, slipping it into his bag. "I will, sir."

When he turned, Tony was absent from his side and the door was just closing. He flashed an apologetic look to Mr. Hayes before rushing out of the room. He caught Tony down the hall and grabbed his elbow, pulling him back.

"You don't have to act like this is the worst thing in the world that's ever happened to you," he snapped. "Believe me, I don't want to be tutoring you, either."

Tony jerked his arm away. "Well, there's no getting out of it now. When do you want to start?"

Cameron blinked at him, bewildered. "What? No, 'Let's just not and say we did'?"

"We kind of have to do it. If my dad's involved in this somehow, then we have to do it," he said quietly. He stopped walking to lean against the wall. "And I suck at math, so if the end of the semester comes up and my grade isn't higher than what it apparently is now, then we're screwed."

Cameron leaned his weight on one foot and pinched his lip between his teeth. "It doesn't matter to me when you want to start."

"Next week, in the library after dinner," Tony said, pushing away from the wall. His eyes lingered on Cameron. "You bring your brain and I'll bring myself." He watched him a moment longer before starting down the corridor.

* * *

The moment lunch ended, Cameron launched into a panic mode. He had sat through the meal, hardly eating a thing and rambling on until one of the boys shut him up. His hands had been shaking too much to hold a pencil or a water bottle, so he'd sat on them the entire lunch period. Now they were pink and numb and he shook them out at his sides.

"Aren't you nervous at all?" he asked of Hayden as they walked to the choir room.

Hayden pursed his lips. "A little. I didn't even volunteer myself for this, Lovett did, so it's not that bad. I think I'd be a mess if I'd willingly done this," he said with a bark of laughter.

"Oh, how I wish I was in your position," Cameron sighed. In the choir room, they took their usual seats on the middle couch, and Cameron shuffled through the music in his folio.

"If you didn't want to do this, then you shouldn't have raised your hand. Ian is going to steam roll you," he said in a low voice, just as Ian passed into the room with Lucas and Nate beside him.

Cameron took a long breath through his nose. "I know, but it's worth the try, isn't it?"

"As long as you don't screw up the lyrics," Hayden said.

Once everyone was in the room and seated, Lovett called attention. She went over news about Sectionals and the upcoming Fall Festival, which was planned the week before Thanksgiving break. She seemed to ramble on for minutes while the rest of the room was struggling to contain their energy.

"And now," she sighed, "let's do the sing off. I'm sure you're all ready for that, I'm sure. If whoever had their names down for the primary lead will come up to the front of the room, we can get started." She went around to her desk and came up with a coin.

Ian immediately hopped up from his seat with a drive that made Cameron grit his teeth. He carefully got to his feet and met the other boy, trying to avoid the eyes that were on him.

"Ah, are we ready, boys?" Lovett said eagerly, nodding to them both. She held the coin on the side of her thumb, ready to flip.

"I call heads," Ian said before Cameron could begin to think of something to say. He grinned in a sickly way.

Cameron glowered at him. "Okay, tails. That's all that's left, it seems."

Lovett either ignored or didn't see the smug expression on Ian's face and she flipped the coin in the air. It turned, end over end, before landing on the desk with a silence-shattering _plink. _Then it fell onto one side.

"Heads," she declared.

Ian stood back with his arms over his chest, smiling, and Cameron suddenly knew how Louis felt when he saw Nate. But he trudged back to his seat and his chest was tight.

"That is why you always choose heads," Hayden muttered quietly. "Heads always gets to go first and heads always wins the sing off, no matter what."

"Well, it was a little hard to call heads when he gets it out before you can even blink," Cameron shot back. "And besides, heads doesn't always win the sing off."

Hayden snorted. "It has every time that I'm aware of."

At the front of the room, Lovett rummaged through a drawer of her desk for a pen and she waved at Ian to start, and he did so gladly.

_She was covered in leather and gold, twenty-one years old,_

_I lost her in the cold, it's unfair she's out there,_

_Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn,_

_She's somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn,_

_Little Ms. Perfect, sitting at the train stop,_

_Red Nike high tops, listening to hip-hop,_

_While we were waiting, started conversating,_

_Before I got a name, along came a train_

Cameron leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. At this point already, he knew he was sunk. If it was even possible, Ian sounded better now than he did in his sing off with Tony, and it hadn't been that long since.

Maybe heads always did win.

_She was covered in leather and gold, twenty-one years old,_

_I lost her in the cold, it's unfair she's out there,_

_Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn,_

_She's somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn,_

_On the street kicking rocks, circling the same block,_

_Green painted flowers, checking every corner stop,_

_Tapping people's shoulders, asking if they know her,_

_Everyday's the same, it's back to the train_

Ian's voice was smooth and it rose and fell flawlessly with the lyrics. For a moment, he locked eyes with Cameron and his lips curved into a tiny grin.

_She was covered in leather and gold, twenty-one years old,_

_I lost her in the cold, it's unfair she's out there,_

_Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn,_

_She's somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, _

_I wonder will we ever meet again,_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh,_

_I wonder will we meet again,_

_Yeah, I wonder if we'll ever meet again,_

_I hope we do, somewhere in Brooklyn_

At the end of the song, Ian flashed a blinding smile and took a bow as the room erupted into applause. Cameron clapped twice, then folded his hands together to stop them from shaking. Beside him, Hayden was chewing his thumbnail off.

Lovett nodded as Ian sat down, scribbling something on a pad of paper. "Alright, Mr. Taylor. You're up next."

As Cameron stood, he felt every pair of eyes watch him. He reached the front of the room and when he turned around, all he could see was Tony's violent violet hair. For a moment he stood there, staring at it, before Lovett gently tapped her pen against the clipboard to jolt him.

Cameron cleared his throat and started to sing, the rhythm quick and upbeat.

_Swinging in the backyard, pull up in your fast car whistling my name,_

_Open up a beer and you say, 'Get over here and play a video game',_

_I'm in his favorite sun dress, watching me get undressed,_

_Take that body downtown,_

_I say, 'You the bestest', lean in for a big kiss,_

_Put his favorite perfume on,_

_Go play a video game_

He wasn't surprised to hear his voice come out as shaky. Absently his hands curled into fists at his sides and he only let them fall flat when he felt his nails dig into his palm. With every verse, he felt the tempo increase until he was taking a breath every other line.

The cover of the song he had found online was quick and energetic, completely different from the original. In his opinion, the cover sounded better.

_It's you, it's you, it's all for you,_

_Everything I do, I tell you all the time,_

_Heaven is a place on earth with you,_

_Tell me all the things you want to do,_

_I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?_

_It's better than I ever even knew,_

_They say that the world was built for two,_

_Only worth living if somebody is loving you,_

_Baby, now you do_

From the back couch, Hayden and Roger watched hopefully. Louis kept drumming his nails against the top of one of his crutches and Michael looked ready to chew his lower lip off.

But when Cameron's gaze flickered over to Tony, he found the other boy watching so intently that Cameron nearly stopped singing all together.

_Singing in the old bars, swinging with the old stars, _

_Living for the fame,_

_Kissing in the blue dark, playing pool and wild darts, _

_Video games,_

_He holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars,_

_This is all I think of,_

_Watching all our friends fall in and out of Old Paul's,_

_This is my idea of fun, playing video games_

There were a few times when Cameron stumbled over a word and he nearly missed repeating the chorus, and he knew his face was as red as the crimson on their ties. He did everything he could to avoid looking at the ground.

_It's you, it's you, it's all for you,_

_Everything I do, I tell you all the time,_

_Heaven is a place on earth with you,_

_Tell me all the things you want to do,_

_I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?_

_It's better than I ever even knew,_

_They say that the world was built for two,_

_Only worth living if somebody is loving you,_

_Baby, now you do_

_Now you do, now you do,_

_Now you do, now you do_

When the song was finished, Cameron sucked in a breath of air. His head spun in circles and the faint sound of applause reached his ears. Blinking, he saw Hayden grinning from ear to ear and nudging Roger in the ribs. Cameron smiled a little and returned to his seat.

"Well done, Mr. Taylor," Lovett said pleasantly. "Now, we'll get started with the secondary leads. Anthony, Hayden?" She scooped the coin off her desk and held it out.

Tony stiffened and he glanced at Hayden. Then he grinned and declared, "Nose goes," and covered his nose with his hand.

Hayden touched his nose, but too late, and he grimaced. As he rose from the couch, he icily glared at Tony, muttering something along the lines of, "I hate you."

Tony merely leaned back in his seat and smiled. Cameron had to cover his mouth to keep back a laugh.

"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Piper," Lovett murmured from her desk.

_I woke up late again, gonna get fired for sure this time,_

_So I'll hit the snooze, and sleep till it's four in the afternoon,_

_The state I'm in is bound to land me in the loony bin,_

_And I don't care at all,_

_When the girl you like thinks you're gay (what-whatever),_

_You got a bunch of bills you can't pay (what-whatever),_

_When nothing's ever going your way (what-whatever),_

_When you're sh— out of luck and you're feeling stuck, say,_

_So what, whatever_

Hayden's expression was full of light and the way he paced across the front of the room was energetic. He glanced apologetically at Lovett when he almost forgot to omit a vulgar word and she glared at him.

_Hey, hey, life ain't fair,_

_Three in the air if you just don't care,_

_Hey, hey, life ain't fair,_

_Three in the air if you just don't care,_

_I was talking on the phone, ran into the back of a Cadillac, _

_Then I hit the gas so the six foot chick wouldn't kick my ass,_

_But I'm not alone, my friends were all there when I got home,_

_And we don't care at all (what-whatever)_

In the middle of a verse, he leapt up onto the corner of Ms. Lovett's desk and swung his legs back and forth, smiling at her. She waved her hand at him in a "get off my desk" gesture, and he hopped off with a careless shrug.

_We're going out on the town again,_

_You better find a hot tub 'cause we're jumping in,_

'_Cause you know that today straight sucked,_

_And if you don't give a, what, I don't give a what,_

_When the girl you like thinks you're gay (what-whatever),_

_You got a bunch of bills you can't pay (what-whatever),_

_When nothing's ever going your way (what-whatever),_

_When you're sh— out of luck and you're feeling stuck, say_

Cameron looked over and found Louis grinning madly, almost mouthing the words, and Michael was slightly swaying with the beat. Ian, on the other hand, looked unimpressed and was picking at his cuticles. Lucas Atkinson sat beside him, staring at the ceiling, and Nate was more interested in his tie than anything else.

_So what, whatever,_

_Hey, hey, life ain't fair,_

_Three in the air if you just don't care,_

_Hey, hey, life ain't fair,_

_Three in the air if you just don't care_

Hayden broke into a smile as he finished, and Cameron was the first to start clapping. Hayden's cheeks were tinted pink as he came back to his seat, and he bumped Cameron's shoulder happily.

"That went better than expected," he said under his breath.

Cameron smiled. "Yeah, you did great."

Ms. Lovett tapped her pen against the desk. "Anthony, you're the last one up."

Hayden's face fell and he slumped back against the cushions, his arms folding over his chest. "Well, she just has to pop my bubble, doesn't she?"

"Why? I thought you were amazing just now. You looked pretty pleased," he pointed out, furrowing his brows.

"Yeah, well, there's Tony. I might as well kiss my chances goodbye." Hayden pursed his lips.

Cameron stared pointedly at him. "I'm sure you're much more talented than he is, Hayden."

Hayden merely lifted one shoulder and fell silent.

Tony had gone to the back of the room to fetch his guitar and was now fiddling with the strap, arranging it precisely on his shoulder. He adjusted the tuning pegs meticulously, strummed a chord, twisted the pegs the other way, and it occurred to Cameron that he was stalling for time. Lovett waited patiently behind her desk, her pen ready in her hand.

"Any day now, Anthony," she said with a helpful smile.

Tony pulled together what looked somewhat like a smile and he fixed his hands over the strings, softly strumming out a tune. Moments later, his voice accompanied it.

_Hold on to me as we go,_

_As we roll down this unfamiliar road,_

_And although this wave is stringing us along,_

_Just know you're not alone,_

'_Cause I'm going to make this place your home_

He tapped his foot in time and leaned against the corner of Lovett's desk with a casual grace, his eyes trained on the strings and his hands moving skillfully. His voice was smooth and low, yet contained a certain verve.

_Settle down, it'll all be clear,_

_Don't pay no mind to the demons, they fill you with fear,_

_The trouble, it might drag you down,_

_If you get lost, you can always be found,_

_Just know you're not alone,_

'_Cause I'm going make this place your home_

To Cameron's surprise, some of the boys from North joined in, singing background vocals when needed. Tony strummed the notes easily and he pushed away from the desk. His fingers slipped and he paused for a half a second to get back on track, and a smile covered his lips.

_Settle down, it'll all be clear,_

_Don't pay no mind to the demons, they fill you with fear_

_The trouble, it might drag you down,_

_If you get lost, you can always be found,_

_Just know you're not alone,_

'_Cause I'm going to make this place your home_

As his voice dropped, Tony glanced up and his eyes found Cameron's. Cameron felt his stomach churn and the breath left his lungs. His mouth felt dry.

Tony's lips seemed to curve as he sung the last few lyrics and the final notes resonated throughout the room. He let the guitar hang from his shoulder before slinging it over his back, his face flushed.

Cameron dropped his head to stare at his lap. Without looking, he knew Tony passed behind him to grab his guitar case, and it was like the Doppler Effect. As soon as he moved to the back of the room, Cameron was able to breathe.

"Alright, boys," Lovett said, clapping her hands together. "I suppose we should take a vote now, shouldn't we? For our secondary leads, we have Anthony and Hayden. All in favor of Hayden?"

At the sound of his name, Hayden froze like a deer in headlights. His face drained as a little less than half the room raised their hands, Cameron and the other three boys included; Louis whipped his crutch into the air and nearly smacked a boy from North upside the head with it.

"And all in favor of Anthony?" Lovett said.

The remainder of the room raised their hands, and Hayden sunk lower into the cushions. Two fingers were pressed against his temple and his lips were set into a flat line.

"It looks like Anthony is the winner of the secondary lead. Congratulations," Lovett said and she smiled at him. Tony smiled, but barely. "And now, the primary leads, with Ian and Cameron. All in favor of Ian?"

Cameron's heart jumped into his throat when the majority of the room raised their hands. The only ones who didn't were the ones from East, and Tony; he was the only North who didn't have his hand up in the air and he looked out of place because of it.

"And those for Cameron?" Lovett asked, her pen ready to write.

Louis stuck both crutches in the air and waved them, and Michael raised one hand and used the other to make sure Louis didn't hit him. Hayden and Roger immediately raised their hands, and Tony did, as well.

"And we have our primary lead. Well done, Ian," she said in conclusion and clicked her pen. "And it looks like we have our two leads for Sectionals! We'll start getting everything together this weekend, and then we have Sectionals. I hope you all are ready…"

When she turned back to her desk, Cameron put his face in his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder and didn't look up.

"Oh, come on, Cameron. Don't be too upset about this," Hayden said in his ear. "I was planning to throw a depression party after school, just for the two of us, but if you're happy, it won't work."

Cameron sat up and stared at him oddly. Hayden merely smiled.

* * *

"Thanks for staring at me during class. Helps me get over my stage fright when people bore holes into my forehead."

Cameron snapped his head up from the textbook in front of him. A packet of Calculus homework sat in his lap, half finished, and he idly flipped a page. He remained as silent as the library around him.

After the final bell, he had gone straight to the library to work. Back in East, Michael was holding an experiment that had a similar outcome to what he and Cameron did the first week, but with four times as many minor explosions, and Cameron didn't want to have to juggle working and blocking out crashes for the next two hours.

Tony pulled out a chair and swung it around, sitting down and running his arms along the back of it. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm trying to do homework," Cameron said bluntly with his eyes locked on a problem. The hand that held his pencil shook.

"I can see that," Tony said, "but let me get your attention for two minutes. Once I'm done, you and your homework can have all the bonding time you want without me interrupting."

With a huff, Cameron shoved his book and his packet in front of him and looked expectantly at the other boy. "You've got my undivided attention. Speak, Tony Hart."

"As I said before, thanks for giving me the deadeye during class. Real attractive."

Cameron's face caught fire. "I was not going for attractive."

"So you were going for something?" His voice perked. "What were you going for if it wasn't attractive?"

"I wasn't going for anything," he stammered out, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the table. "I was just watching you play. You're good."

Tony shrugged. "Thanks, but it wasn't my best. I don't really do country that well."

"I think you did fine. You did win, after all."

"How is Hayden taking it? He's probably pretty upset, isn't he?" he asked sheepishly.

Cameron pursed his lips and drew circles on the corner of his homework. "He's disappointed, but I don't think he's upset. He's definitely not mad. Honestly, I think he's glad you won, because I'm sure he would've jumped off a bridge if he had to sing with Ian."

"Yeah, and now _I _get to sing with him," Tony murmured. They were both silent for a moment.

Cameron fiddled with his pencil, twisting it between his fingers to keep his hand busy. He looked up at Tony without raising his head.

"If you don't do country that well, then why did you sing it during class? It was for a sing off, of all things. If you wanted to do well, you should've sung something you were comfortable singing." He stopped. "I mean, you did well, obviously, but—"

"I get it." He pursed his lips into a thin line, his eyes fixed on a blank spot. His fingers traced circles in the wooden grooves on the table and it was a moment before he spoke. "You like country, don't you?"

Cameron narrowed his eyes and he tilted his head to the side. "What does it matter if I like country?"

"No reason." With one side of his mouth turned up, Tony stared down at the table. He stood up, pushing the chair back into place, and he left the library before Cameron could say anything more.

* * *

Cameron paced back to the dorm after finishing in the library. After Tony had left, he hadn't been able to focus on much of anything. He'd scribbled down answers on his packet, even though he knew they weren't right, but he would correct them later when his head finally stopped spinning.

When would his head stop spinning? It seemed to whirl clockwise, then counterclockwise, then back again, and he had to stop and lean against the wall outside the door to the dorms to steady himself.

It was the stress, he decided mentally. It was the stress of moving across the country, over a different time zone. It was the stress of moving to a new school where the professors think it's fun to drop a bulldozer of homework over their students' heads and make it due two days later. It was the stress of joining the choir, where the competition was higher than American Idol.

It was the stress of people, some people more than others.

A sudden crash that resulted in the wall behind him vibrating made Cameron open his eyes. His heart skipped a beat and he waited, frozen. Then he heard muffled yelling and pushed through the doors, his bag bumping at his side.

The sour scent of powder filled the air and a gauzy haze hung in the air. Cameron coughed, covering his mouth, and moved into the kitchen, where the smog was worse and a layer of heat washed over him. Shapes were darting in front of him and he almost thought he was seeing stars until one of them bumping into him.

"Cameron!" Roger's voice said with relief. "Oh, God, I thought you were Markus for a second. If he was here, we would be dead."

"What's going on?" Cameron asked through a cough. He waved some of the smoke away with his hands.

Roger cleared his throat. "We were trying out something different, and _Michael _added the wrong chemical!" he shouted.

"Sorry, sorry!" Michael squeaked from the island, holding beakers in his hands. He looked up the ceiling. "Oh, goddammit. Why aren't these sprinklers working already? I thought we just had them replaced after last year!"

Cameron covered his nose and mouth and looked over at Roger. "None of this gas and stuff is deadly, right? Because if I'm going to drop dead anytime soon, I'd rather kill you first."

"No, we're all good," Roger coughed. "It's just… very thick. And it tastes awful."

A bead of sweat broke out on Cameron's forehead and he wiped it away. In his pocket, his phone started to vibrate and he stepped out of the kitchen to glance at the screen. It was his dad calling, and he picked it up immediately, moving toward the commons.

As he turned the corner, he saw Hayden and Louis come down the corridor. Louis smiled and waved at him, but when he saw the smoke pouring out of the kitchen, he hobbled toward the doors as quickly as he could without falling, with Hayden beside him.

"Hello?" Cameron asked into the receiver once he had stopped his fit of coughing.

"Hey, Cameron," his dad said from the other end. "How was school today?"

He stopped when he reached the common room doors and looked back at the kitchen. The smoke had lessened significantly and the smell of water overpowered the acrid odor that was there before. There was a loud spurt as the sprinklers started up, and Louis hobbled out into the hallway, beaming.

"See!" he shouted into the kitchen. "My crutches can be used for other things besides helping me along!"

"Yeah, because I think we'll add 'turning on sprinklers' to the list of things they can do," someone, maybe Hayden, shouted back.

Cameron swallowed dryly, some of the powder from the air caught in the back of his throat. "Oh, you know. It's going well," he said, and he ducked down the corridor to head to his room. "Classes are fine and the teachers are nice."

"And how about choir? You told me you joined that, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did. Apparently, I'm the one person they needed to be able to go to Sectionals in two weeks," Cameron said, pushing into his room. He dropped his bag on the floor by the desk and sat down heavily.

"Sectionals? Didn't you have something like that back in Texas?"

Cameron twirled a lock of blonde hair between his fingers. "Yeah, we did. But it seems like it's a huge deal here, bigger than it was back home."

His father made an understanding noise. "When is it?"

"I think the week after next. Why, do you want to come?" he asked hopefully. His parents had rarely come to see him sing in competitions and performances because of work.

"I definitely want to come," his father said, "but I don't think I can. I've got meetings all that week, and your mom is going out of town for her work. We're kind of booked solid."

Cameron slouched in his chair. "Oh. That's fine, I guess."

"We'll go to the next one, how's that? When's your next performance?"

"It depends whether we win this one or not," Cameron explained. "It's sort of like a sports tournament, where they play in brackets until you come up with a winner. If we don't win Sectionals, we're out. If we do, we go on to the next stage, whatever that is."

"I'm sure you'll win this one, Cam," his father said encouragingly.

He sighed and kicked his chair around to look at his telescope. "I hope we will."

A beat of silence passed over them, and Cameron could hear him working on something, shifting things around. His father was always adjusting things and making sure they were in the perfect position. Since they had moved into their new house, he had been straightening everything in sight, from the furniture to the picture frames on the wall.

"So, how is school going? Have you made any friends yet?" his father asked.

"Yeah, I have. I'm rooming with a guy named Hayden," Cameron said. He stood up and ran his fingers over the smooth surface of his telescope. "And there are a few others that have rooms next to ours. They're in the Warblers, too, so that's nice."

"That's good to hear."

He picked at his lip. "And there's Tony, too."

"Tony?" his father echoed interestedly.

"He's just a guy in my math class," Cameron said airily. "And he's also in the Warblers with me."

He shifted something else around, and it sounded like a stack of papers. "Is he nice?"

"He's very… interesting. I mean, he's nice and everything, but he's very interesting." Cameron sat down on the edge of his bed and looked out the windows at the sports fields.

"Cameron," his father said in a flat tone of voice, "do you like this boy?"

He jumped up suddenly and nearly dropped the phone. "What? What? Like… what?"

His father laughed on the other end. "I was just asking if you liked him, Cam! It's not the million dollar question!"

"In which way?" Cameron said, short of breath.

"You know which way I'm talking about," he said and dropped another stack of papers.

Cameron held his breath. "No, Dad. I don't like him like that. God, why do you think I like every single guy I meet in _that _way? Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm automatically attracted to every male on this planet."

"Okay, okay, I was just asking. Can you blame me for wanting to get to know my own son a little more?" he said defensively.

"I suppose not," he answered briskly. "But seriously, I do not like Tony. And he's probably not even gay, anyway. And besides, I am the single most awkward person in this universe. I don't see how anyone would like me like that."

His father was silent on the other end for a long while. "Peter liked you in that way."

"And he is the only person who will _ever _like me in that way," Cameron snapped.

"Cameron, just because you've only had one relationship doesn't mean you're 'doomed' for the rest of your life—"

"Hey, Dad?" he interrupted sharply. "I kind of have homework I need to do, so when you want to talk about something other than my love life, call me back and try again." He hung up and tossed the phone on the bed, threading his fingers through his hair.

Then he saw Hayden standing in the doorway, looking damp with his eyes wide.

"How long have you been standing there?" Cameron said, his voice rising.

Hayden rubbed off a patch of white dust of his chin. "Um, from when you started talking about Tony."

The blood rushed to his face. "Oh. Oh, God. Just for the record, I don't like him at all—"

"I know, I know. Barely anyone likes him," he mumbled as he unknotted his tie and slung it on a hanger in the closet. He unbuttoned his blazer and hung up as well. Underneath, his white shirt clung to his frame. "He's just likeable enough that we can stand to be around him."

Cameron let out the breath that he didn't know was locked in his chest. "Oh. Oh, okay."

"So, your dad seems pretty interested in what guys you're seeing," Hayden said. He kicked off his shoes and ran one hand through his wet hair.

"You think?" he said. He sunk down into his desk chair. "He's been like that since Peter. My mom doesn't really want to get into that at all, which surprises me, because moms are usually the ones who obsess over who you're dating, and all. Not dads."

"Yeah, you're telling me. My mom started freaking when I told her I was dating someone. It's been three years, and I don't think she's over it yet," he chuckled.

Cameron narrowed his eyes at him. "You're dating someone?"

Hayden nodded and a smile painted his lips. "Yeah. Her name's Phoebe, and she goes to the girl's boarding school about two hours from here," he said. "We actually met at Regionals my freshman year."

"How have you stayed together? I mean, if you're two hours apart and in rival schools…"

"It's not that difficult, really," he mused as he sat down on the edge of his bed. "The distance isn't as big between us as it is between Louis and his boyfriend, obviously. We still find time to meet up and have lunch, or see a movie. And she's really good about the whole rivals thing, because she doesn't make a big deal about who wins and who loses."

Cameron stared at him. "Wow. She sounds nice."

Hayden flopped back onto his bed. "She's _amazing. _And if we make it to Regionals this year, maybe you'll have the chance to meet her."

Cameron nodded. "How's the explosion in the kitchen going?"

"I came out in one piece, didn't I?" he said jokingly. "I think Michael sent Louis away because he got in the way with his crutches, and he and Roger are cleaning things up. It's a relief the sprinklers came on when they did, because I think something would have caught on fire sooner or later."

"I heard something about Louis hitting them with his crutch."

"That may have happened."

Cameron rolled his eyes. "Well, that's one way to turn on the sprinklers."

Hayden laughed and stood up. "I'll say. I'm going to take a shower and clean up before dinner. I'd like to get the smell of toxic chemicals off before it sets in," he said, and started toward the bathroom.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Sectionals looms over the Warblers, Tony plays a game of Jekyll and Hyde, and Ms. Lovett hits a soft spot in her most troubled birdie. _


	7. Sectionals

Hello, readers.

Sorry for the late update. Everything's been really crazy for me, and I'm trying my best to update as often as possible. Band's been taking up time, as well as school, and I just applied for college today. Eek!

Anyway, this is really short. I hope you enjoy the next chapter of Boxing the Stars.

PS: I'm also working on the second chapter for FaFDF. Don't worry.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to me, except Dalton and things in the Glee!verse.

* * *

**Sectionals**

* * *

The morning of Sectionals, Cameron was face down on a pile of pillows and had no intentions of getting up anytime soon. Nothing would get him on his feet, not even if the building was on fire or if there was an earthquake that was threatening to reduce the campus to shambles.

Except maybe coffee.

"Come on, rise and shine, love! Today's a big, big, big day!" Louis said cheerfully, nudging him with the thick black boot that replaced his cast.

He had gone to get his cast off days ago and he traded the crutches in for a boot, which was a downer to him because the crutches were, in his words, "the ultimate weapon", to which Hayden added, "Yeah, even though you only use them to beat up my brother. What an ultimate weapon."

Cameron rolled sluggishly onto his back and rubbed his eyes. Louis was leaving over him, already dressed in his uniform with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. "No, I don't want to get up just yet."

"Oh, come on. Today is _Sectionals_! We're supposed to be excited!" the other boy protested, waving his arms and nearly sloshing coffee everywhere.

He rolled out of the way quickly and sat upright. "It's hard to be excited when I'm dead tired."

"That's what coffee is for!" Hayden chirped, popping his head out of the bathroom. His eyes were wide open and his dark hair stuck up wildly on one side. He held a mug in his hand.

"And how many cups have you had?" Louis asked and raised an eyebrow.

"Six, but I'm feeling just fine! It's just an awesome morning for Sectionals! Can you even believe we're going to Sectionals? Gosh, I can't wait to see the other choirs! I wonder what they're going to sing, what do you guys think?"

Louis had a certain look on his face and he glanced at Cameron. "This is why you don't feed him more than two cups in an hour. Gets him wired up," he said.

Cameron smiled faintly. "I'll take note of that."

"You need to lay off the coffee, or you're going to crash," Louis called across the room to Hayden.

"I'll be fine!" Hayden shouted back.

Louis sipped from his own mug. "That's your last one, alright?"

"Fine," he whined and he went to set his cup on the bureau.

There was a knock on the door and Roger stepped in, with Michael right behind him. Both looked somewhat sleepy and were already dressed in their uniforms.

"Hi, guys!" Hayden said and his voice sounded almost an octave higher.

Roger leaned back, stunned, blinking. "Hi, Hayden. How many cups of coffee have you had today?"

"Only six," he answered, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, "but Louis told me I couldn't have anymore."

"Good call," Roger muttered.

As they started talking, running over the schedule for that morning, Cameron pulled a pillow into his lap and curled onto his side. His eyes shut and a moment later, he felt Louis prodding the tip of his boot against his chest.

"No going back to sleep," Louis said in a sing-song voice.

Cameron covered his face with the pillow. "Just give me another minute."

"Geez, what's with you?" Roger asked. He glanced in the mirror on the wall and ran a hand through his hair. "You're never usually this tired. In fact, you're always the one trying to get _us _awake."

"I know, I know. I just had a late night, that's all."

"We shut the lights off at ten last night, Cameron. _Ten o'clock. _That is early for us," Michael said slowly.

Cameron ran a hand through his curls. "I know, I know. I sort of maybe stayed up a little later than that."

Louis narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What were you doing? The crossword?"

"Although the crossword is very entertaining," he said as he stood, "I didn't. I took my telescope outside."

Michael just about dropped his mug of coffee. "You did _what?_"

Cameron took Roger's mug from him and took a small sip, handing it back and moving in front of the mirror to fix his hair. "Uh, yeah. I took my telescope outside and sat around."

"Where did you go?" Hayden asked. Already his voice was starting to drop octaves and he seemed to have simmered down.

"I sat out on the soccer field," he explained and he propped his hands on his hips. He was still wearing his too-long flannel pajama pants with an old shirt. "What? Don't look at me like that. The soccer field is the perfect place to see the stars, and it was pretty clear at three this morning."

And it was. Both of the baseball diamonds worked as well, but he liked the soccer field much more, for some reason. The sky had been incredibly clear, without any clouds in sight, and the moon had been shining bright enough that Cameron could navigate his way down to the field without a flashlight.

For about two hours, he had laid out on the grass in the cool air with a pile of star charts that he needed to finish for his Astronomy class and his telescope pointed at the sky.

Louis' glasses slid down his nose when he shook his head. "I can't believe you went outside and sat on the soccer field at three in the morning with your telescope the night before Sectionals," he said.

"How long did you stay out there?" Roger asked.

"A few hours…" Cameron trailed off, then he saw the others' expressions. "What? I got a few hours of sleep!"

Without a word, Roger thrust out his coffee mug. "You, my friend, are going to need this in order to attempt to function today."

* * *

In the choir room, when there was about ten minutes before they loaded onto the bus, Cameron was leaning against Hayden and vice versa, both with their eyes half shut. Hayden's caffeine rush had worn off and Cameron was nearly falling asleep.

"Oh, no, don't be falling asleep on us now. We haven't even left the school yet," Ms. Lovett said disdainfully as she passed them. She pushed them forward and they jolted upright, eyes open wide.

"Sorry," Hayden muttered as he rubbed his eyes. When she'd walked out of earshot, he said quietly, "At least we'll be able to sleep on the bus."

Cameron nodded with a smile and he folded his arms over his chest, trying to keep himself awake. He crossed his legs and listened to the snippets of conversations around him.

On one of side of the room, Roger and Michael were physically holding Louis back by the shoulders to keep him from approaching Nate, who was standing and laughing with Ian and Lucas on the other side of the room by the windows. Louis was saying something along the lines of, "Aw, let me at him! I don't have my crutches, so how do you expect me to hurt him?"

The remaining boys, about three or four of them, stood at the back of the room and talked in low voices, sounding nervous about the performance.

But the only boy Cameron cared to watch was Tony. He sat on the couch with his back to the windows, his fingers threading anxiously through his hair, which was a surprisingly dull brown. Cameron blinked, and then Tony noticed him.

Cameron looked away, startled, but then glanced back at him. He ran a hand through his own hair and mouthed, "You dyed it?"

Tony bobbed his head sadly and touched his hair again longingly. His lower lip pouted in a way that made Cameron flush furiously. He saw Tony grinning like a Cheshire cat, and then Hayden was nudging him in the ribs.

"Hey, did you hear anything I just said?" he asked.

"What?" Cameron stammered out.

Hayden's eyes flickered over his face, then followed his line of sight. He scowled when he saw Tony and he glared at Cameron. "Please tell me you did not just make eye contact with that _thing_."

"Humans are technically things, so I'm not going to call you out for calling him a 'thing'," Cameron said patiently in a hushed voice. He leaned toward him. "And so what if I made eye contact?"

"He's like Medusa! He will turn you into stone with one evil glare," he said, glaring at Tony from the corner of his eye.

Cameron clapped his hands on either side of his own face. "I'm not stone, so I don't think that worked out very well."

"Don't be sarcastic with me," Hayden said flatly. "I don't want you talking to him, Cameron. He's not good."

"Why? He's sort of actually nice," Cameron admitted, and the words almost tasted funny in his mouth.

He covered his mouth to stifle a snort of laughter. "Tony Hart? Nice? Roger must have put something in your coffee this morning, because Tony is _not _nice—"

"Okay, boys! Take your seats, please. I'd like to go over a few things before we load up and head off," Lovett announced from the front of the room.

Hayden dropped his sentence and only glared coldly at Cameron, who leaned back in his seat and tried to avoid it.

* * *

When the bus pulled up in front of the school where the competition was taking place, people were swarming the parking lot. The events taking place were spelled out in the marquee in block letters and every single parking space was taken. Lovett maneuvered the bus into a spot in the very back, narrowly missing running over one of the choirs that was supposed to compete with them.

Cameron dug his nails into the fake leather of the seat and he glanced at Hayden. "Please tell me all the bus rides aren't like this," he said as the tires screeched against the pavement.

"Oh, it is," Hayden said through gritted teeth. "Lovett would rather drive the bus instead of hire someone to do it for us. Said it saves us money."

"I don't care if it saves us money. I'd rather have to pay for a bus driver than be dead because we got into an accident because of Lovett's reckless driving," Cameron said shortly.

In front of them, Michael turned around and looked over the top of his seat at them. "You might want to take that back, Cameron, because with all that money saved, Lovett takes us on a spring trip."

"Spring trip?" The engine puttered to a stop and he peeled his hands from the seat.

Roger appeared next to Michael, his arms slung over the top of the seat. "Freshman year, one of the guys' dads chipped in and we went on a cruise in the Caribbean for a whole week. That was one hell of a trip."

"Wow," Cameron breathed as the others around him stood up shakily, all stunned from Lovett's driving, "where are we going this year?"

"We'll have to see. Lovett didn't tell us about the cruise until three weeks before we left. So she could wait until then, or she could tell us at Christmas," Roger chuckled.

Hayden got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, I guess we better get going. Honestly, I'd rather have my feet touch the ground than be on this bus one more second…"

The boys slowly moved off the bus and Lovett led them across the lot to the front of the school, where masses of people were hoarding the doors and the lobby inside. Lovett fretfully left them to check in at a table and they idled by the doors to the library. Most of the boys had their heads ducked and were going on about the abundance of people that moved around them, and it almost looked like they had never gone to Sectionals before in years.

Finally, Lovett approached them with a packet of papers in her hands and sweating bullets. A runner stood behind her with a clipboard and a schedule, and they followed him through the school to the auditorium and the greenrooms.

Cameron idled in the back with the others in front of him, counting the number of steps he was taking, and then there was someone beside him.

"Hey," Tony said airily as his eyes coasted the hallway around them. His hands were tucked neatly in his pockets and he seemed completely at ease.

"Hi." Cameron straightened and he waited for Hayden or one of the others to turn around and bark at Tony, but none of them did; they were all too involved with keeping Louis from attacking Nate with his boot.

"What's up?" he asked and he watched the floor as he walked.

Cameron nearly stopped dead in his tracks. "Did you seriously just ask me what was up? Really?"

"What? I'm just trying to make conversation. Is that such a crime?" Tony stopped walking and waited for him to catch up. The group was a little ways in front of them, but no one seemed to notice.

He shook his head. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you what is up, exactly," he said, resisting the urge to smile. "Your hair. Why did you dye it a normal color?"

Tony ran his fingers through it again. "Do you not like it?"

"I was only asking why you dyed it, I didn't say I didn't like it."

"So do you not like it, or do you?"

Cameron pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Fine. I don't really like it. But that's probably because I'm used to you having a spectrum of colors for a hair color," he mumbled.

"Then I'll dye it when we get done with this whole thing," Tony said, gesturing around them.

"You dyed it because of today?"

He nodded gravely. "Lovett and Markus said I had to dye it or I couldn't go today. Go natural or go home. That's literally what Markus said," he said with the faintest of smiles. "So, if you had a favorite color for my hair, what would it be?"

"What?" Cameron stared at him and followed the group around the corner. The murmur of people grew as they passed the auditorium.

"I wouldn't want to get into dying it some color and then waltz into Mr. Hayes' classroom and then you absolutely hate it."

Cameron took a moment before answering, "It's your hair. You do what you want with it. I don't see why my opinion matters."

"I wouldn't want to dye it your least favorite color," Tony said with a hint of humor coloring his voice, "and then have that be the reason you don't talk to me. So what do you think would look best?"

"Blue?" he said, furrowing his brows.

Tony turned his head to look at him. "Why blue?"

"Well, you said you didn't want to dye it my least favorite color, and I'm giving you my favorite color," he said.

He seemed to consider this. "Blue sounds nice. What shade?"

Cameron hit him in the arm, suddenly livid. "Why are you even having this conversation with me? Why aren't you with Ian and the others?"

"Ouch," he said, rubbing his arm. "What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing's wrong. Why would you think something's wrong?" Cameron snapped hastily. His jaw set, his teeth grinding together.

Tony reached out and poked Cameron's chin. "That's why."

"Would you stop touching me?" he demanded and he swatted his hand away nervously. He tucked his hands in his pockets. "Good Lord, I'm sick of you, and I've hardly been at this school for more than a few weeks!"

"You're sick of me?" Tony blinked and for the first time, he looked somewhat pained.

Cameron shook his head and stared at the floor, then peeked up at Tony. "Okay, maybe that's not the right word I wanted to use, but to be honest, you're stressing me out, Tony."

He stayed eerily quiet, then he leaned toward him, uncomfortably close.

"It's the hair, isn't it?" he said in almost a whisper. "I knew I should have bleached it instead of dying it brown. I would've still been natural, yet with that hint of insanity—"

"It's not your damn hair," Cameron stuttered, stepping away from him. "It's the way you act, and the way you've _acted, _and the way you talk that just drives me up the wall, and—"

"How I've acted?" Tony said stiffly.

Cameron swallowed, hard. "As in, the past. I'm talking about freshman year."

"How would you know anything about that?" he snapped. He leaned back and yanked on his tie. His expression went blank. "Don't tell me. Your little friends from East squealed on me. Didn't they?"

Cameron played with the small yellow bird pin that adorned his lapel, representing the Warblers, and he pinched his lips together.

"Didn't they?" he said again.

"Why did you bail at the last second, every time?" Cameron asked, painfully quiet. He stopped walking and turned to face him, tilting his head back slightly to look at him. He didn't care that the rest of the group was moving without them. "Hayden told me that Lovett used to give you all the solos, and then when the time came, you just backed out without any reason."

Tony's glare was hard and he stepped closer to him. For a moment, Cameron could feel his breath wash over his face, smelling sweet of cinnamon and mint gum, and then his hand was wrapped around his arm and he was dragging him forward.

Darkness followed and Cameron blinked, but he only saw black. His muscles locked.

"Tony, what is going on?" he asked desperately. "I'm not dead, am I? Oh, God, if you've killed me, I'm not going to be very happy with you—"

A light flicked on overhead and he found himself standing in the middle of a janitor's closet. The air reeked of vanilla air freshener and chemicals and shelves of cleaning products, mops, and buckets surrounded him. The space was small, and Tony stood across from him, his arms folded over his chest.

"Cool your jets, will you? I didn't kill you. I barely laid a hand on you," he said shortly.

Cameron rubbed his arm where Tony had grasped him tightly. "Yeah, sure, sure. But seriously, why?"

"Why didn't I lay a hand on you?" Tony raised his eyebrows, confused. "I thought you wouldn't appreciate it, considering you're so touchy all the time about physical contact. Why, did you want me to?"

"No! No, I didn't," Cameron said, flushing. "I meant, why did you back out? Lovett gave you all these solos and you just threw them all away without anything to say for yourself."

"I don't know why you're so concerned about this, Cameron," Tony said evenly. "What happened in the past is exactly that: the past. I think you need to stop worrying about—"

"Are you going to bail today?" He chewed his lip.

The words made the other boy freeze. He stood, motionless, for what seemed like years before he finally ducked his head to his chest. "No, I'm not."

Cameron clenched his hands into fists by his sides. "Why? Why don't you just continue this little tradition you have with letting everybody else down?"

Tony stayed silent.

"Are you hiding in here with me just because you don't want to go out there? Is that it? Are you using this as some sort of diversion so you can skip out on it, like every single time before?" he snapped, throwing his hands in the air.

Again, no reply.

"Are you just going to let the Warblers down again, Tony? You've let them down several times in the past, and—"

"Be quiet," Tony said, and Cameron thought he heard his voice waver. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Cameron propped his hands on his hips and gave a short, weak laugh. "Oh, really? You're telling me I don't have any idea what I'm talking about? I heard it right from Hayden's mouth, Tony. He and Roger and Michael and Louis. They all know you better than I do, and they've known you for years—"

"But that doesn't mean they actually know me," he protested.

"But it means they know what you've _done_," Cameron said lowly. He stepped forward cautiously, almost tripping over a bucket, which reminded him that they were still in the middle of the janitor's closet. He poked Tony's chest with his finger. "And what you've done is awful."

Tony smiled sardonically, and it made Cameron's stomach churn. "So let me guess. Just because your friends decided to talk a little trash about me, that means your guard is up?"

"My guard has been up since the day I met you. There was something I didn't like about you, and now I know what it is," Cameron said, dropping his hand, surprised Tony hadn't already pushed it away. "You're a coward, Anthony Hart."

Tony flinched at the sound of his full name. "You think I'm a coward because I bailed on the others?" he asked maliciously. "Don't listen to what Hayden and his goonies tell you. None of it is true."

"Well, they got the bailing part right, didn't they?" Cameron blurted.

Suddenly Tony slammed his hand against the shelf to his side and some of the half-empty cleaning bottles fell to the floor. Cameron stumbled back and his back came upon the door.

"I'm sorry I'm such a jerk, and I'm sorry I'm such a coward, and an asshole, and an all-around horrible person. I lost my mom to cancer when I started high school, and I used to cut myself and drink until I couldn't see straight. My own father doesn't think I'm good enough; he thinks of me like I'm the dwarf of the litter because I'm a 'fag' and I'm never going to marry a girl and give him grandchildren," he spat, taking a step towards Cameron. "And you think all that makes me a coward?"

Cameron squeaked when Tony's hand pressed his shoulder to the door. "I… I just…"

"Hayden and the others are just biased. You've got to learn to trust the people that aren't your friends, Cameron," Tony said, and his voice was soft. "Because sometimes, your friends are too blinded by their own views to see anything else."

Cameron sucked in a breath when Tony stepped back, releasing his shoulder. He clasped his hands to keep them from shaking.

"What, did I scare you speechless?" Tony guessed with a smug look.

Cameron shook his head and looked at him with disbelief. "You're… you're gay?"

Tony leaned his head back and let out a long, exasperated sigh. A light blush covered his cheeks and his eyes darted around the small closet as if it would give him an answer. "Is that seriously _all you got out of that_? Really, Cameron?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It sort of just stuck out," he said quickly, wringing his hands in front of his face. He breathed in and placed his hands on either side of his face. "But really? You're gay?"

"What does that even matter right now?" Tony practically shouted.

Cameron dropped his hands to his sides when they started to tremble. "I just… I just thought it was funny that we had something in common. Seeing as we're—we're different," he said and he hated that his voice sounded jittery and high.

Tony's hard expression softened slightly around the edges.

"After you've explained all of that to me, should that mean something?" Cameron spoke up after clearing his throat. "Does that mean I have to trust you now?"

"You don't have to," he said, "but it's recommended. It would be nice to have at least one person think that I'm not basically the spawn of Satan."

"Yes, because I'm totally going to trust you, even though the others don't. Tony, they _hate _you."

Tony tilted his head to the side. "Really? I had no idea. I thought they all just _loved _me."

"Normally, your sarcasm gets on my nerves, but now, I'm really considering banging my head against the door until I pass out," Cameron said flatly.

The corner of Tony's mouth twitched. "And if you did that, who's going to be bailing now?"

"Okay, I'm done with you," Cameron dismissed. "I'm done with you and your cowardice, and your fetish with shoving new kids into closets and scaring the hell out of them, and definitely, your sarcasm." He turned and twisted the knob, but Tony's hand caught his wrist.

"Look, I'm not trying to be the bad guy here, Cameron. I'm really not. That's just how it turns out to be," Tony said, uncomfortably close. His voice was in Cameron's ear. His temple was pressed to Cameron's, and he could feel the pulse jump faintly under the surface of his skin. "But I'd like for to just give me a chance. That's all I'm asking."

Cameron didn't turn his head; he felt Tony's breath wash over his cheek. "Okay, if I say I'll trust you, can you let me out of this closet? I'm starting to feel claustrophobic—Hey, shut up, will you? I didn't mean to make a joke."

Tony, snickering, stepped back to give him a gratuitous amount of room, and Cameron pushed the door open, stepping out. The hallway was less crowded than it was earlier and Cameron was able to breathe. He whipped around to glare at the other boy.

"If you ever do that again—shove me into a closet, I mean—make sure you warn me next time."

Tony grinned as he brushed lint off his shoulders. "Are you planning on being in the same situation with me in the near future?"

"I would hope not. Being in such a small space with you is quite uncomfortable," Cameron said lowly.

"Then don't follow me into a janitor's closet and we won't have that problem."

Cameron's eyes widened and he flinched when Tony brushed past him. "I didn't follow—how could you say—you were the one who basically locked me inside in the first place!"

"Oh, come on, Cam. I was just teasing you," Tony said with a short smile. He folded his hands behind his back.

He glared icily at him. "I can see why the others don't like you all too much."

Tony's humorous expression flattened and he took a step closer to him. "Just one chance, Cameron," he said, his eyes flitting over his face. "That's all I'm asking. Just give me one chance."

"And what happens if you blow your one chance?" he asked. He threaded his fingers together.

His eyes gleamed. "Then I won't ask for another."

"Anthony! Cameron! Where have you boys _been_? We have fifteen minutes until we're on stage, and you're out here in the hallway, talking like you have all the time in the world! Honestly!" came a shrill voice from the end of the corridor.

Both boys froze and the color drained from their faces.

Lovett stalked madly down the hall toward them and the members of other choirs that were there moved out of her way. She stopped in front of Cameron and Tony, her face wrathfully flushed. "I asked you both a question. Where have you been?"

"We were coming back from the bathroom," Tony supplied coolly, but Cameron could see him twisting his fingers anxiously behind his back.

"Without telling me?" she snapped.

"We thought we asked you," Cameron said innocently and he tried to keep his voice from faltering.

She looked ready to reply, but simply ran a hand through her bushy hair. "Okay, fine. I'm not in the mood to argue with either one of you right now, especially you, Anthony," she said and she glared at him. "You're both coming back to the greenroom with me. I don't want you out of my sight until we get back to Dalton. Understood?"

Both of them nodded, and Lovett turned sharply on her heel and started back down the hall. They followed her closely, avoiding stares from the other choirs, and from the corner of Cameron's eye, he saw Tony grinning madly.

* * *

"Is it possible to die from an anxiety attack?" Cameron asked fretfully. He had his hands twisted together in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of Hayden, Michael, and Roger. Louis stood by them, tapping his boot loudly against the floor.

There was less than ten minutes until their performance time, and the Warblers waited patiently backstage, behind the curtains. From where they stood, they had a good view of the stage, where the choir before them was singing some tinny pop tune and dancing in sync. Just watching them was enough to make Cameron's knees feel numb.

"I don't think so, but you look like you're going to prove my assumption wrong," Roger said. He placed a hand on Cameron's shoulder. "Just calm down. Sheesh, if I didn't know better, I'd think you hadn't performed before."

Cameron ran a hand through his curls. "I have, I just forgot the feeling of actually being nervous."

Louis let out a long breath through his nose. "That makes two of us, that's for sure," he said and he craned his neck to look at the stage. "Oh, God, I think they're on their last song. Let the countdown begin."

"Stop that," Michael scolded and he hit him in the arm. "You're making more nervous than I already am."

"We should all just stop being nervous and start being confident and prepared," Roger said with mock enthusiasm. The three boys stared pointedly at him and he rubbed a hand over his face. "Okay, who am I kidding? I'm as freaked out as the rest of you are."

Michael rubbed his temples. "Okay, I'm going to get a drink of water before I pass out from dehydration. Roger, Louis, come with me so you can catch me if I fall," he said, and he dragged the other boys down the hall towards the bathrooms.

Cameron peeked through gap in the curtains. The auditorium was about half-full, and a table of judges sat in the front row, all with clipboards on their laps. The spotlights beamed down on the stage and the air smelled heavily of dust. He stepped back, threading his fingers together, and he felt a prod at his elbow.

"So, where were you?" Hayden asked quietly. He stood with his feet together, hands shoved into his pockets.

"When?" Cameron raised an eyebrow.

"Before we came here. Like, when we were in the greenroom warming up," he clarified. "Lovett left after she did a head count and came up two short, and then you come back with her and Tony's with you. What happened?"

Cameron felt his chest tighten. "Tony and I went to the bathroom," he said lamely.

"And you came out alive? Wow, that's stunning," Hayden mumbled, crossing his arms.

"What does that mean?" He watched as the choir on the stage took bows, soaking up their applause, and tediously filed out of the spotlight.

Hayden dropped his arms to his sides. "I thought the only reason he would ever be near you is if he wanted to kill you, or something."

Cameron shook his head slowly, vaguely recalling what Tony had said about him hurting himself years ago. "No, he wouldn't kill me."

"Well, that's not the first thing I'd assume," Hayden mumbled.

He was about to reply when Lovett started to usher them onto the stage. The curtains were dropped to the floor to conceal the audience and the judges, though the boys still heard murmurs of voices. Lovett arranged them properly in the same set up they used during class. Cameron stood in the middle, in the same spot he had been in in his choir at his old school. He couldn't help but be aware that Tony was one row behind him and to the right, a perfect smiled on his face.

"Alright, I think you all look good," Lovett said, but she didn't sound satisfied in the least. "I know you can do this. Go out there and kick some ass, will you? I'll be rooting for you on the sidelines."

"We've got thirty seconds," said the stagehand, who had a timer in one hand and a clipboard with the schedule on it in the other.

She nodded at him and took a deep breath. "Do your best, boys. You're going to do just fine," she said and she flashed them a thumbs up. She followed the stagehand off the stage, and Cameron heard the pulse rush in his ears.

When the countdown from the stagehand reached fifteen seconds, he turned his head slightly to the side. He saw Louis flailing backstage with Lovett, who was too concerned with the performance more than him. Louis sat down and kept aggressively pulling at the Velcro on his boot, unhappy.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed from the speakers, startling all of them, "please give a warm welcome to the next competitors in the Sectionals competition, all the way from Westerville, the Dalton Academy Warblers!"

Then the curtains flew up and the lights blinded them. From the speakers, the music kicked off. As the music swelled through the auditorium, echoing against the walls, Ian stepped forward into the spotlight.

_When she was just a girl, she expected the world,_

_But it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep,_

_Dreamed of para, para, paradise,_

_Para, para, paradise,_

_Para, para, paradise,_

_Every time she closed her eyes,_

_When she was just a girl, she expected the world,_

_But it flew away from her reach, and the bullets catch in her teeth_

The rest of the boys joined in, singing the background vocals softly. Cameron stared into the vast space that was in front of him, only seeing black. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and he knew Tony was breaking out of the block, like it was practiced in rehearsal so many times.

_Life goes on, it gets so heavy,_

_The wheel breaks the butterfly,_

_Every tear, a waterfall in the night, the stormy night,_

_She closed her eyes in the night, the stormy night,_

_Away she'd fly_

Ian and Tony took turns between singing the lyrics, each singing gracefully, and their voices carried throughout the room. Cameron swayed slightly to the beat, and then as quickly as it had started, the song ended.

Moments later, the tempo changed to something a bit more upbeat, and the group broke apart, running through the routine Lovett had drilled them over for hours upon hours.

_Counting all different ideas drifting away,_

_Past and present, they don't matter,_

_Now the future's sorted out,_

_Watch her moving in elliptical patterns,_

_Think it's not what you say,_

_What you say is way too complicated,_

_For a minute thought I couldn't tell how to fall out_

Tony had started the song and he glided across the front of the stage skillfully, his brown hair catching the light. It was so odd to see him look somewhat normal and Cameron lingered too much on it, almost tripping over his feet.

_It's twenty seconds to the last call, you're going hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,_

_Lie down, you know it's easy,_

_Like we did it over summer long,_

_And I'll be anything you ask and more,_

_You're going hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,_

_It's not a miracle we needed, _

_No I wouldn't let you think so,_

_Fold it, fold it, fold it, fold it,_

_Fold it, fold it, fold it, fold it_

Then Tony's voice faded out as Ian took over, his voice taking on a smoother feel than the former's.

_Girlfriend, oh your girlfriend is drifting away,_

_Past and present, 1855 to 1901,_

_Watch them built up a material tower,_

_Think it's not gonna stay anyway,_

_Think it's overrated,_

_For a minute thought I couldn't tell how to fall out,_

_It's twenty seconds to the last call, you're going hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,_

_Lie down, you know it's easy,_

_Like we did it over summer long_

The boys danced almost perfectly in sync, hardly missing a step, and Cameron smiled as he sang. His eyes fixed forward instead of down at his feet and he squinted to keep out the bright spotlights.

_And I'll be anything you ask and more,_

_You're going hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,_

_It's not a miracle we needed, _

_No I wouldn't let you think so_

Ian finished the song with a flourish and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. The crowd broke into an appropriate applause in the few seconds before the music for the next song started.

The closing song, in particular, made Cameron want to dance until he couldn't feel his feet, but he refrained, moving into the block with the others. He stood in the back, and past the others, he saw Tony stand above the others, just a little bit taller.

_Happiness, it hurt like a train on a track,_

_Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back,_

_She hid around corners and she hid under beds,_

_She killed it with kisses and from it she fled,_

_With every bubble she sank with a drink,_

_And washed it away down the kitchen sink_

Ian's voice blended into the mix, and the result was harmonious. As the rest provided the background vocals, the two boys took the lead.

_The dog days are over, the dog days are gone,_

_Can you hear the horses, 'cause here they come,_

_And I never wanted anything from you,_

_Except everything you had,_

_And what was left after that, too,_

_Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back,_

_Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that_

But as Cameron turned on his heels, the spotlights hot on his skin and adrenaline rushing through him, he saw Tony duck to the back of the group, almost to where he was. His eyes were wide and filled with something Cameron couldn't quite distinguish, and then he was off the stage, ducking behind the curtains and disappearing.

Cameron nearly stopped moving to stare and maybe dart after him, but he felt Roger grip his elbow to catch his attention. Roger had seen all of it, as well as a few others who looked astonished.

_The dog days are over_

_Run fast for your mother and fast for your father,_

_Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers,_

_Leave all your love and your longing behind,_

_You can't carry it with you if you want to survive,_

_The dog days are over, the dog days are gone,_

_Can you hear the horses, 'cause here they come_

At the front of the stage, Ian stumbled on his feet. Although he gained his footing and beamed into the audience, Cameron could tell he was jolted by Tony's disappearance. Nonetheless, he kept singing.

_The dog days are over, the dog days are gone,_

_The horses are coming, _

_So you better run,_

_The dog days are over, the dog days are gone,_

_The horses are coming, _

_So you better run_

The audience erupted in applause as soon as the song ended, and the Warblers took their bows, their faces flushed and their hearts hammering in their chests. Though they were all smiling at the crowd, Cameron stared at the gap in the curtains where Tony had gone, his throat thick.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they were back on the stage. The Warblers stood between two other choirs, the New Directions from Lima and some other school whose outfits faintly resembled peacocks. Both groups looked nervous by the way they were muttering under their breaths.

Cameron stood at the back of the group, watching the stage hands bustle about with envelopes and clipboards. He jumped a little whenever he saw someone who looked faintly like Tony; his heart was still racing from the performance and his mind was wandering.

After the performance, the only thing anyone had had to say was about Tony's rush off the stage. Ian made it sound like it was planned, intentional, but his expression wavered. Hayden had gone off on a rant about him, claiming it was like, "the last two years. He's never going to change, no matter what." Lovett had stood off to the side and had nearly gone into a panic attack; she was more concerned about why he left during the song than his whereabouts.

Now, he was still nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" said a booming voice. A man paraded onto the stage with a microphone in his hand and a thick envelope in the other. "I hope you all have enjoyed today's performances…"

Cameron zoned out slightly, staring at the spotlights, and the words of the announcer went through one ear and out the other. He caught the names of the choirs, but that was about it. His mind was buzzing too much to pay attention to much of anything.

Where was Tony? Why did he leave in the middle of the finale? Cameron ground his teeth together, remembering how adamant Tony had been when he said he wasn't planning on bailing at the last second.

Then all of a sudden, everyone was screaming and jumping and shaking his shoulders.

"Did you not hear what they just said?" Hayden appeared in front of him. He practically yelled over the ruckus.

"N-no!" Cameron shouted back. "Why? What happened?"

Roger pulled him into a tight hug and swung him off his feet. Setting him down, he exclaimed, "We won Sectionals!"

"What?" Cameron shrieked. He snapped his gaze to Michael, who looked like he was about to start crying at any moment. Michael wrung his hands in front of him, jumping up and down. His mouth was open like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out except whimpering noises.

"Well, we didn't exactly win _completely, _but—" Hayden started.

Cameron's eyes widened. "What?"

"We sort of tied with the New Directions," Roger said quickly, jerking his thumb at the group to their left, where a director was being handed a trophy from the announcer. The choir behind him was hopping all together with their arms around each other, and one girl looked like she was crying.

Then Roger's face brightened. "But we still won!"

"Oh, my God! I don't even care if we didn't completely win it, I'm just glad we did! I can't believe it!" Hayden said, threading his fingers through his hair like a mad man. He jumped into the air and grinned.

"Hayden, if you can't believe it, look at _Ms. Lovett_," Cameron said through a fit of laughter. He pointed through the mess of navy at their director, who was accepting the gleaming gold trophy almost hysterically, with tears in her eyes.

The boys shared ecstatic laughter and couldn't help but grin.

"Oh, gosh," Michael said, finally able to utter out something, "this is amazing. I never thought we would—you know we haven't won in two years—not since—and _oh gosh, _this is awesome!"

Cameron tugged his tie loose around his throat and he placed both hands on either side of his face.

A figure darted out from backstage, every other step sounding like a hammer against wood. Louis hobbled as quickly as he could to them and threw his arms around Roger's and Hayden's shoulders, leaning forward with the widest grin on his face.

"Well done! I honestly don't give a crap if we tied!" he said appreciatively.

Michael wrung his hands wildly in front of him again. "I know, right? This is so great! After not getting past Sectionals for two years, it feels great to do it again."

The director of the New Directions shook hands with Lovett, who still looked too stunned to much more than nod and say, "Thank you" repeatedly. The director of the third choir, however, took her group off the stage without a word. In a clump, the New Directions were herded off the stage and as they left, they started singing something slightly off-key and not together, but they sounded thrilled.

Lovett huffed happily and brushed her bangs from her face. She clutched the trophy to her chest. "Okay, boys. Let's head out and go home!"

They all gave riotous cheers and she led them backstage and into the hallway, which was bustling with family members and the two other choirs. Cameron stayed in the back of the group, right behind Hayden and the others.

He yelped when a hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him back around the corner. Then he found himself face to face with Tony and he opened his mouth to shout. But Tony clapped his other hand over his mouth.

"Whoa, tiger. Calm down, it's just me," he said, grinning.

Cameron mumbled wildly against his hand, and he yanked it away. "Where on earth have you been? We've been looking for you everywhere! Why did you leave?"

"Reasons," he said gruffly.

"Can you let go of me?" Cameron squeaked.

And Tony immediately dropped his hand from his shoulder. "Sorry."

"But seriously, where were you? You completely drop out in the middle of the closer and you freaked Ian out! He nearly fell when he figured out that he would have to cover for you!" he hissed furiously.

"Honestly, I don't really care if I freaked Ian out. He can handle one little song on his own," Tony said articulately. He leaned away from Cameron, against the wall.

Cameron ground his teeth together. "I would definitely slap you right now, but I'm not going to."

He grinned. "A pacifist, huh?"

"No! We're in public and I—" He shook his head. "Why am I even talking? You should be the one explaining yourself! What happened?"

Tony simply watched him, as if he was memorizing every feature and every plane of Cameron's face. It was unsettling, enough to make Cameron squirm and look away.

"So, my one chance is blown, huh?" he asked, his head cocked to the side. He licked his lips.

Cameron narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what he was talking about. When he did, he practically growled, "Oh, it is _very _blown."

"Does that mean I'm probably not going to get a second one?"

"You said you wouldn't ask for another one," he reminded him.

Tony pursed his lips. "I'm not going to ask. I'm just wondering whether, from the goodness of your heart, you would offer me another one. I don't have to necessarily ask to get one."

He parted his lips to reply, but then his eyes flicked to the side and he saw Lovett marching toward them. Behind her, the rest of the group looked downright frightened, even Ian and Lucas, who held the trophy. Cameron's jaw dropped and he fought the urge to run.

In front of him, Tony squinted his eyes with confusion. "What's—"

"Mr. Hart. I would like to have a few choice words with you."

Tony blanched and slowly, he turned around to face Lovett. She was red in the face and her hair resembled a dark storm cloud over her head. She tapped her heel sharply against the floor, waiting.

"No matter what I'm going to say," Tony said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm still going to be in trouble, aren't I?"

"You are in so much trouble," Lovett spat venomously, jabbing a finger at him, "that you are going to wish you never ran off that stage. Now, come on. As much as I want to, I'm not going to badmouth you in front of everyone."

Tony wrinkled his nose. "You're going to wait until we get back to school, aren't you?"

"Of course. If I'm going to yell at you, I'd rather have the freedom to without getting bad looks from the public," she said. She glanced over her shoulder at the judges, who were passing behind them, watching questioningly.

"That's nice of you," he muttered.

She looked back at him. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"You're already in a deep hole, Mr. Hart. I wouldn't dig yourself any deeper," she said stiffly. "Cameron, please keep a close eye on Anthony when we go back to the bus. I'd rather not lose him again."

With that, she turned sharply on her heel and stalked back to the rest of the group. Hayden was staring at Cameron with the intensity to burn a hole in his forehead, and Cameron avoided meeting his eyes.

"Well," Tony sighed, looking over Cameron, "it looks like you get stuck with me again."

Cameron held up a finger. "Don't talk to me. I'm extremely ticked off at you."

"Lighten up, will you? We won. The least you could do is—"

"Stop talking!" Cameron said, louder. He turned to him angrily. "And don't you dare say that 'we' won, because you had no part in this. I don't care if you sung one note or the entire show, you _left _us, Tony. You bailed out on us, and you said you wouldn't."

"Cameron, just listen to me—"

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut. "_No, _Tony. Maybe Hayden was right about you. Maybe I can't trust you, and maybe you're just an asshole."

Blinking, Tony looked pale. "Hayden said that about me?"

"Everyone says that about you! Hayden, Roger, Michael—even Ian and Nate and Lucas talk about you when you're not listening. They all say awful things about you, Tony, and don't act like you don't hear it, because I know you do," he answered in a low tone.

Tony's eyes hardened dangerously and his hands curled tightly at his sides. He looked like he didn't know what to feel, if it was anger or shock or something else.

"Don't stand there and stare at me. We're going to get left behind, but somehow, I'm not sure Lovett would mind that." Cameron turned away from him and started down the hall.

* * *

On the bumpy bus ride home, Cameron felt sick to his stomach. He sat in a seat beside Hayden with his forehead pressed against the window. Every time the bus hit a bump, his head hit the window and he winced.

Music was blaring through the speakers from the radio and chatter filled the air. Lovett was driving the bus and she was talking to a few of the boys who sat in the seat behind her. Ian sat in the next seat over with Lucas, the trophy laid across their laps, and Nate was in the seat behind them.

After Cameron had stormed off to head to the bus, he hadn't looked once at Tony. He didn't even care if he got on the bus at all. In fact, it would do him more good if they'd just left Tony at the school instead of taking him back with them.

"Hey, you okay?" Hayden nudged him in the ribs.

Cameron raised his head tiredly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Who knew winning could wear you out so much?"

"You can say that again," he said with a laugh. But his smile slowly dropped. "But seriously, what's wrong? You look kind of sick."

"I get motion sickness pretty easily," he said. When Hayden leaned away, teetering on the edge of the seat, he laughed. "Not easily enough that I'm going to puke every time we take a sharp turn."

Hayden's shoulders relaxed and he smiled. "Okay, good. Because, no offense, I would have to change seats with someone else. There is just something about people getting sick in front of me that freaks me out—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Cameron said with a short laugh.

"But really, what's going on with you? You seemed off before we went on stage, and you seem off now."

The bus took a turn and Cameron leaned against the window, tugging at his tie. "Nothing's really wrong, it's just—"

Hayden snapped his fingers in realization, appearing satisfied, but then he grimaced. "That was right after you'd come back with Tony, and after the performance, when Lovett caught you with Tony…" He trailed off disapprovingly. "Oh, no."

"You could say that," Cameron said and slouched in his seat. "Let's just say I'm probably going to avoid him for the rest of my life."

"Is he finally turning on the asshole charm?"

Cameron merely nodded.

Hayden leaned his head back against the seat with an exaggerated motion, sighing. "It's about time. I mean, not that I wanted him to, but you get the idea. That's him, in the flesh, and he's not going to change."

"If he did change, I'd be very, very surprised."

"The only thing that he would willingly change about himself is the hair," Hayden said.

Cameron nodded and blinked, recalling the conversation he'd had with Tony about his hair color, right before he'd been shoved into the janitor's closet.

"Don't hold your breath. If he could spend three years being an asshole, I don't think he'd have any trouble sticking it out this year," he grumbled bitterly. "And today was a good example. Leaving in the middle of the closer could've killed us. Can't believe it didn't."

Cameron shrugged one shoulder and stayed quiet until the bus pulled into the Dalton parking lot.

* * *

"You know what we need?" Roger said as they walked back to the East dorms, yawning and exhausted.

The rest of the boys had unloaded from the bus and were returning to their own wings, save Tony. All eyes were on him as he followed Lovett back to the main school building, no doubt to discuss the performance.

"What?" Louis asked, leaning against Michael to take the strain off his leg.

"A party. You know, food, confetti, and movie watching until we're all too incoherent to do much of anything," he said with an excited grin.

"That's what you consider a party?" Cameron asked, raising an eyebrow.

All four boys looked at him oddly.

"Well, what do you think a party is if it's not that?" Hayden asked incredulously.

Cameron shrugged. "Before I moved, I used to go to a few choir parties and we usually hung out in someone's basement, drank to the point of passing out, played Spin the Bottle until everyone has kissed at least every single person in the room, and ate food. Then we'd wake up in the morning half-dressed and with a major hangover." When silence greeted him, he said, "What?"

Louis shook his head and opened the door to the wing, holding it open for the others. "That sounds like a boring party, if you ask me."

"Did you really drink?" Michael asked, unbelieving.

"No, I was just the designated driver for whoever needed to be home by a certain time, but was too drunk to drive," Cameron supplied, following the others inside. "I absolutely cannot stand alcohol. My parents are big wine collectors and they have a special cooler for it, and… ugh."

Roger laughed, deep in his chest. "Good, because for a second, we all thought you were secretly an alcoholic."

"Never have, and never will be," he stated firmly.

"Did you really snog _everybody_?" Louis asked in disbelief. "I thought you had a boyfriend!"

Cameron rolled his eyes. They passed the commons and the kitchen and headed to the dorms. "No, I didn't kiss everybody. I was the only one who opted out of it. And yes, I had a boyfriend, but at the time. We're sort of broken up, if you don't remember."

"I remember, but did _he _kiss everybody? Because if I had been you, I would've made sure his lips didn't touch anyone else's but my own," he said, puckering his lips for emphasis.

"Your boyfriend could be kissing every guy he meets right now, and you wouldn't even know it," Roger prompted, which made Louis go red in the face.

"He better not be, because we're coming up on our anniversary soon and I don't want it to turn into an, 'Oh, I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to celebrate our relationship and all, but I've been sucking face with other guys while you're on another bloody continent and I don't want to be with you anymore.'" Louis folded his arms firmly over his chest.

Roger laughed. "I'd sort of hate to be Oscar, if that was the situation."

"Why? Because he'll be missing out on this hunk of fabulousness?" He gestured to himself with a wide flourish of his hands.

"No, because you'd probably beat his face in," Hayden chimed in.

Louis made a face at him and dug his room key from his pocket. "I would not! I don't think I could live with myself if I ruined his perfect face."

"You could always kick him in the—"

"And thus the conversation about my boyfriend _ends_!" he declared as he swung the door open. His gaze moved to Cameron. "If you ever, _ever _decide to get into a relationship again, make sure these fellas don't know a thing about it. They will torture you until the day you die."

Michael scrunched his nose. "We will not."

"Maybe _I _will," Hayden admitted, "but I won't torture you. Probably just ask a lot of questions, that's all."

Cameron punched him lightly in the arm. "Well, to me, that's torture."

* * *

The trophy gleamed in its spot on the desk in the choir room. The sun hit it in just the right spot that the gold illuminated and the name plate had a certain luster to it. But Lovett's foul glare dampened it.

"Please, take a seat, Anthony," she said, clipped. She leaned against the corner of her desk with her hands folded in front of her.

Tony carefully sat down on one of the couches and he crossed his legs, his arms running along the back. He remained silent, knowing he would have hardly a need to speak at all for the duration of time he was in here.

"I would like to discuss with you your mistakes that occurred over the course of the day," she went on.

"There are more than one?" Tony asked, feigning innocence. "Gee, and all this time I thought I was an angel."

Lovett braced her hands against the desk and her fingernails tapped against the surface. "I'm being very serious with you, Anthony. And it's taking every fiber of my being to not completely explode on you."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

Her expression darkened. "I don't want to hear any of that come from your mouth right now. I don't like your tone and I don't like the way you're speaking to me at the moment."

Tony uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again, and his fingers found the small bird pin on his lapel. "You know, you sounded like my mom just now. She used to sit me down and explain what I did wrong the way you're doing now, and with that exact tone of voice," he mused, almost thoughtfully.

"Oh," she breathed, putting her head in her hand. She peeked through her fingers. "Please tell me that's not why you ran out today. Because of her."

"If it was, would I be in less trouble than I was originally in?"

"I'm afraid not. Your mother doesn't change anything about it."

He snapped his fingers in mock disappointment, and his eyes faintly shined. "Darn."

Lovett narrowed her eyes at him. "How can you take this so lightly? She was your mother, for Pete's sake," she said quietly. "It's only been three years, hasn't it?"

"It'll be three in April. It's been about…" He trailed off, looking at the ceiling as if that would help him with his calculations. "Two years and about two hundred, eighty-six days," he said tautly. "But I don't like to keep track."

"I'm so sorry."

"You and everybody else, Ms. Lovett."

She looked suddenly weary and she glanced out the windows, the blinds cutting the light into stripes that painted themselves across the walls and the floor. She turned back to him. "Is that really the reason you left today? You know, Ian had to cover your part."

"I know. I heard he handled the situation quite nicely," he responded dryly.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which one?" He picked at a loose thread on the arm of the couch.

Lovett puckered her lips. "The one I just asked you right now. About leaving," she said restlessly. "Did you really get off the stage because of your mother?"

Tony didn't meet her eyes. "Sort of."

"It's yes or no, Anthony. Not a maybe."

"No," he answered. He shifted. "I'm sort of over the idea of leaving in the middle of the song just because I remembered, 'Oh, hey, I don't have a mom, and it's been that way for two years.'"

Lovett looked absolutely puzzled. "Then why did you leave?"

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek and pressed a lock of his hair between his fingertips. As his mind scrambled to think of something to say, the period of silence stretched longer and longer until he finally shook his head.

"You're troubled, Anthony," Lovett concluded after what seemed like hours. She turned and went around to sit at her desk, filing through her top desk drawer. "I can't even begin to tell you how many times you've dropped out on the Warblers at the last second. It seems that every time I give you a solo, you take it with pride, and then when the moment arrives, it's almost like you can't handle it anymore."

"I can handle it," he protested, clenching the armrest.

Lovett instantly stopped rifling. "Then why do you bail on everyone all the time?" she asked, then paused. "And it's not just in the Warblers that I'm talking about. A few of your teachers and I met with Markus last year and they couldn't stop going on about how you were doing so well with your grades, even after your mother's passing, and then you would just… stop. You gave up."

Tony sat back, holding his breath.

"You gave up on a lot of things. Your grades, the solos I give you in here—" She stopped talking when she found a folder in the drawer and she smoothed it out on the desk. "You know, I was hesitant about giving you the secondary lead, Anthony, I really was."

"Then why did you give it to me? Why did you have to pay attention to how the others voted?" he questioned.

She sighed loudly. "Because I thought you would be different this time. I thought you would actually pull through with this, but we all know how that ended," she murmured sadly.

"You could've given it to Hayden," Tony went on. "You didn't have to take into consideration the voting. In class, you could've just said that I won, but then you could've stopped me and Hayden after and given Hayden the solo instead."

"I didn't because I thought I could trust you," Lovett stated firmly. She slammed her hands down over the folder, making Tony jump. "I thought I could count on you to sing a few lines in a few damn songs, but it turns out that you couldn't."

Tony leaned back in his seat. "Is this the part where you're going to start yelling at me?"

Lovett rolled her eyes and stared at the trophy. "I'm trying not to yell; I'm sick of it always being you that I yell at," she said bluntly. "But if you could, I have another question for you."

"Shoot," he said colorlessly.

She tore her eyes away from the trophy. "When I found you and Cameron in the hallway before the performance, what were you doing, exactly?" she asked. "And don't tell me you were going to the bathroom, because I remember clearly now, and I specifically did not give you permission."

"I was talking to Cameron," he answered quickly.

"Yes, I know that," she said in a _do you really think I'm that stupid? _tone.

Tony finally got to his feet, sick of sitting, and he paced to the windows, laying a hand on the top of the small wooden piano. He stared out at the parking lot. "Cameron's tutoring me for Math. Mr. Hayes says that if I don't get a good grade on the midterm, he's going to have 'serious words' with my dad about it. I was just talking to him about the next time we have a session."

Lovett laughed richly. "He's got the right idea, Mr. Hayes does, because I was actually considering speaking to your father about today's incident," she said with mock cheerfulness.

"What? You can't do that." He turned to face her. "Ms. Lovett, please don't call my dad."

"I'm sorry, Anthony, but—"

Tony placed a hand against the corner of her desk. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'd rather you call me Tony instead. It's what everyone else calls me."

"Well, there are other things that everyone calls you that you aren't entirely aware of," she said briskly, ignoring his stunned expression, "but I think I'll stick with Anthony. It is your birth name, after all."

"It's the name people use when they're disappointed in me," he said and withdrew his hand.

Lovett smiled blandly up at him and she flipped through the folder. "And I use your full name all the time. What does that tell you?" she said, and she came up with a sheet of paper with typing across it.

"What is that?" Tony ignored her and stood behind her chair, squinting at the writing.

"Just your records. Telephone numbers, people to call in case something happens to you. It's the same thing Markus has in his office," she said airily. She placed the paper on the desk and ran her long fingernail down the list of numbers.

Tony recognized most of the names on the emergency contacts list and he swallowed when she stopped at his father's name. "Please don't call him."

Lovett reached for the phone and held it between the crook of her neck and her cheek. "I'm sorry, Anthony, but he needs to know what happened today at Sectionals. Maybe he can talk to you to set things straight," she said, then shooed him with his hand. "And please, don't read over my shoulder. It's a pet peeve of mine."

Stepping away, Tony covered his hands with his face and listened as Lovett greeted his father on the other end.

* * *

In the next chapter: Halloween arrives at Dalton Academy, and Cameron finds himself dealing with a costume party, a lot of trouble, and a particularly drunken boy.


	8. Fright Night

Hello, readers.

Long time, no see! Sorry it's been such awhile since I last updated. I hope most of you continue to read this story, since it's not about Kurt or Blaine.

Anyway, my school's homecoming is tomorrow and I get to see the mum my boyfriend made me! He's been keeping it a secret for the past week and I haven't been able to see it...

But anyway, here's the next chapter of Boxing the Stars. Reviews would be lovely!

Disclaimer: I own everything, except the Warblers and Glee.

* * *

**Fright Night**

* * *

As Cameron came out of his fourth period Astronomy class, blinking to adjust to the sudden change of light, he stopped. He let out a yelp when he found himself face-to-face with a white hockey mask.

"Calm down, Cam. It's just me," Hayden said, tearing off the mask and grinning madly. He stuffed it in his bag.

"Don't do that again, okay?" Cameron said. He shoved him in the shoulder and started down the hall.

Hayden caught up with him. "So, tonight we're having a big Halloween bash in East. Are you in?"

"Halloween?" he questioned.

"Well, duh. Today's Halloween. Where have you been for the last week? That's all everyone's been talking about," Hayden laughed and they started down the main stairwell.

Cameron shrugged. For the last week, he had been drowning in makeup work. He had spent nearly every night out on the soccer field with his telescope and a flashlight, working on the star maps Professor Whitney had assigned. Every day during lunch, he had skipped eating to work on homework for his History class, and after school, he was taken up with his tutoring sessions with Tony for Math.

He could handle the homework and the brutal teachers and the staying up so late that he would end up just not sleeping at all, but there was hardly any way he could deal with tutoring Tony. If he could hardly stand the first session they'd had a few days ago, he wasn't sure he was going to last through the one this afternoon.

And in the past week, while the others were hyped up with Halloween coming, Cameron had received two calls from his parents, one from his dad at work and the other from his mom while she was grocery shopping. He had also been called by Peter four times; he had denied the call all four times to avoid talking to him.

"Why is everyone talking about it?" Cameron asked, gripping the stair railing in one hand.

"Because!" he exclaimed. "Every year, all the wings throw parties for it! It's one of the best parties of the year, besides the Christmas one in December."

Cameron nodded and his eyes scanned the hallway. When he caught a glimpse of sudden orange hair, he swallowed. "So what do you do at this Halloween party, exactly?"

"Bob for apples, listen to music, pig out on candy," Hayden listed. "It's what you would do at any other Halloween party."

"Are there any pranks?"

"Pranks?"

Cameron tore his eyes away from the orange hair to stare at his friend. "Yes, pranks. I'm talking about things that could possibly humiliate me in any way, shape, or form."

"There are a few," he said, "but they're not that bad, I swear. The worst thing that's ever happened is one of us getting shoved into a closet for five hours. No one's ever pranked anyone _that _bad."

"I hope you're right. I don't want to be on the receiving end of anything," he told him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he sighed. "I would walk back to the dorms with you, but I have to go to the library."

Hayden rolled his eyes. "You always go to the library after school. You have been for a week. What's so interesting in there?"

Cameron felt his face grow red and he held his breath when he felt someone pass behind him. "Don't get mad at me, or anything," he said in a low voice as he dragged Hayden to the side of the hall, "but I'm sort of stuck tutoring Tony in Math."

"You're _what_?" he said, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

"I told you not to get mad at me!" Cameron snapped.

Hayden ran a hand through his hair and he didn't like he knew that to say. "I'm not mad at you, Cameron, I'm just really ticked off. He should just worry about his own damn grades and keep you out of it—"

"He didn't ask me for help," he hissed. "Mr. Hayes decided to put us together for it, since Tony's failing and midterms are next week. And if Tony doesn't get a good grade on his midterm, Mr. Hayes is going to bring Tony's dad into this, and it's just one big mess."

"But I don't see why you have to tutor him. Why can't he get some other smart kid to do it instead of you?" he said.

Cameron bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't know. Apparently, I'm one of Mr. Hayes' best students, so he thought that this would work out fine."

"But it's not," Hayden grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest. "So this is why you've been going to the library every day? It's not just your intense love of books and dusty shelves?"

"It's not. I just—" He stopped when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. The only people who would be calling him at the moment were his parents and Peter. He hoped it was the former.

Instead, it was a text message from an unknown number that said: _Hey, I'm in the library. Back table, like usual. I have orange hair this time, just so you know._

Hayden leaned forward to scan the screen and he frowned. "Oh, great. You gave him your phone number?"

Cameron's face caught on fire and he jammed his phone back into his pocket. "No, I didn't! I don't know how he even got my number in the first place, but I didn't give it to him, I swear."

"Sure. Seriously, Cam," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You need to start severing your contact with this kid, alright? He's no good news, and you know that. I want you to be careful with him."

"He's fine, Hayden. I'm only tutoring him. It's not like I'm attached to his hip, or something," Cameron told him. He backed up a step. "And I know you want to badmouth me for the next five minutes, but I need to get to the library."

Hayden waved a hand at him. "Nobody's going to be pleased when I tell them."

"Then don't tell them," he said simply. "Problem gone."

"Problem not gone. He better be one smart cookie by midterms next week, because I don't like the idea of you tutoring him," Hayden said lowly.

Cameron nodded and disappeared into the crowd of boys, heading in the direction of the library.

* * *

Five minutes later, Cameron pushed through the doors and was faced with thundering silence. The librarian sat at her desk at the front of the room and she waved politely to him. He forced a weak smile and headed straight for the back.

Tony was sitting with his back to him at a table and his bright orange hair caught Cameron off guard for a moment and made his slow. But he plopped his bag on the table and dropped into a seat.

"Good timing. I was just about to give up on you," Tony murmured. He already had the day's math homework out, but he was scribbling in the margins instead of working on the problems.

"How did you get my number?" Cameron asked bluntly.

He looked up and brushed a shock of hair from his eyes. Cameron didn't like the orange. It made his skin look too tan and his eyes almost gold. The cooler colors looked better on him.

"I'm a Precursor, Cameron," he said in a playful tone. "I think I can get access to anything if I tried."

"That doesn't mean you should," Cameron snapped.

Tony briefly smiled. "Touché. So, what plans does East have for their Halloween party tonight?"

He stared at him, unpacking his bag and reaching for his spiral. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just asking," Tony said simply.

"I don't really know," Cameron admitted. He pulled out his textbook and flipped to the right chapter. "Hayden was in the middle of telling me when you decided to text me."

"Well, sorry, for trying to be a good student and keeping up with my work."

He waved a hand at him. "What does North do?"

Tony leaned back in his chair so that it balanced on the back two legs and Cameron wanted to knock him over. "The usual. We dress up, eat candy, play music, dance, get drunk, go trick or treating in the neighborhoods on the other side of the highway, come back and crash and try to look presentable for class the next morning. I even dyed my hair for the occasion." He gestured to his vibrant locks.

Cameron gaped at him. "You get _drunk_?"

"Is that all you got from that?" he asked, using the same tone had he had at Sectionals. "You need to work on your selective hearing."

"Everything else seems pretty safe. Getting drunk on campus does not," he said in a quiet tone, even though they were in the back of the library and had no chance of anyone overhearing them.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Relax, Cameron. We don't get as drunk as you're thinking. Usually someone just slips a little into the punch bowl to give us a buzz and we're fine. It's hardly anything."

"I still can't believe you even do that," he muttered. He fished his calculator from his bag, yanking out his Astronomy folder on accident. The papers inside spilled out across the table and he scrambled to collect them.

Tony plucked one of the papers up and studying it, then looked at him. "You named one of the stars on here after me?"

Cameron's blood turned to ice and his hands froze with papers in them. "What?"

He showed him a black sheet of paper with small pinpricks of white across it, dotted lines connecting some of the pinpricks. It was the assignment where they had to construct their own small galaxy and fill it with stars and other celestial figures with their own names.

"No," Cameron blurted and grabbed the paper from him. "I-It's named 'Antony.' Like Marc Antony from 'Julius Caesar.'"

Tony snickered. "Sure, sure."

"Why would I name a star after you?"

"Because I'm just that special."

Cameron glared sharply at him and stuffed his papers back into his folder. "Yes, you're just one big ball of special, aren't you?"

He grinned cheekily. "See? I knew you'd agree."

"Aren't we supposed to be working on raising your math grade?" he shot, lifting his calculator. "Because last time I checked, you were failing and if you didn't pass midterms, which are in a week, mind you, Mr. Hayes was threatening to bring your dad into this."

Tony rolled his eyes and threaded his fingers through his hair. "If he was going to bring my dad into this, he should wait until finals."

"We're halfway through the course, Tony. If I were him, I would've threatened to call your dad after the third week of school."

"Then I'm glad you're not him."

Cameron looked away and flipped the cover open on his spiral. He took out a pencil and started copying down problems.

Tony leaned forward, with his elbows against the table. "And you know, my dad's already got the idea that something's wrong with me. Lovett called him when we got back from Sectionals."

The tip of the pencil snapped when Cameron pressed too hard and he glanced up. "No way. Did she really?"

"She did. And it was a brutal bloodbath," Tony sighed dramatically. He kicked his feet up on the table and was surprised when Cameron shoved them back off.

"Sorry. Pet peeve of mine," Cameron admitted. He tucked his hands tightly in his lap. "Keep going."

Tony watched him closely, but kept talking. "And so she put it on speakerphone and we talked to my dad. Actually, Lovett talked to my dad, and I just shouted at him a lot."

"You shouted at him? Why?" Cameron finally set his pencil down; he couldn't focus with someone talking at him.

"Because he was being a dad. Why else? He slapped this huge guilt trip on me, right in front of Lovett, and she just sat there and smiled at me like she had the freaking world on her shoulders," he muttered bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Cameron said softly.

Tony looked at him. "So yeah. I kind of don't need Hayes calling my dad. This would be the fourth time he's gotten a call from someone at the school who wanted to complain about something I did."

"The fourth time? God, Tony, what else did you do?" he asked.

An amused look washed over his face. "Well, before this whole school year started, I had a little conflict with Ian that involved me nearly running him over in the parking lot."

Cameron dropped his jaw. "You almost ran over Ian?"

"Shut up, will you? You're screaming like a banshee and I'm pretty sure we're not allowed to talk above whispers in here," Tony snapped harshly. "And yes, I almost did run over him. What, are you opposed to that? I'm pretty sure most of the Warblers wouldn't be—"

"I'm not opposed to that. Actually, I sort of am because you shouldn't be almost running over other members of the choir," Cameron sighed tiredly. "But really, why did you run over him?"

Tony licked his lips. "He slashed my tires."

"No way. Ian Foster slashed your tires?"

"Well, I'm still not sure if it was him or not because it could've been Nate or Lucas, too, but still." He picked up his pen and started twirling it in his fingers. "Either way, I got new tires and nearly ran over him."

Cameron glowered at him. "You're horrible sometimes, you know that?"

"Yes, I do know that. You've told me several times before," Tony said, not shocked in the least. "You said something like it back at Sectionals."

Cameron pursed his lips and stared down at his work, aware of Tony's gaze burning a hole in his forehead.

"You know," Tony said, "since you're talking to me and all, does this mean you're giving me that second chance I mentioned?"

"You said you wouldn't ask for it! You said several times that you would not ask for another one," Cameron said hastily.

"That, I did say, but I also did say that I was wondering if you would offer me one. That's not asking if you're offering." He leaned forward on his elbows and grinned.

Cameron set his jaw and he gripped his pencil. "Lean forward anymore and this pencil goes straight into your eye."

Tony laughed, but he did sit back in his chair again, balancing it on the back two legs again. "I thought you were against all kinds of violence? And in my opinion, stabbing people in the eyes with pencils counts as violence."

"If it accidentally lands in your eye, then it's technically not me being violent."

His smile dropped for a moment, but then reappeared. "You've really thought through your plans of attack, haven't you?"

Cameron rolled his eyes and tapped his spiral. "Aren't we supposed to be busy raising your grade? After all, you wouldn't want another call to your dad," he said. He set his phone on the table and ducked to retrieve his book from his bag. "Now, what do you want to start on first? Tony?"

"This Peter guy is really blunt with you," Tony murmured, scrolling through Cameron's phone.

"Don't snoop through my stuff," Cameron snapped and he snatched the device from Tony's hands, his face catching fire.

Tony looked at him flatly. "It wasn't my fault. You just got a text and I am a naturally curious human being," he said. He added, "Plus, it doesn't help that you don't lock your phone."

With the blood rushing to his face, Cameron looked down at his phone. "I got a text?"

"From some guy named Peter." His voice was sharp, and he was picking at the edge of the table with his fingers.

Cameron's chest suddenly became tight and he opened his inbox. "And what did Peter say?"

Tony lifted his head. "He said something about wanting to 'get back together.'" He raised his fingers in air quotes, and his usually bright face suddenly looked ashen.

"Oh, no," Cameron said in a long breath. He stared at the few messages Peter had sent him, all asking how Cameron was and if he wanted to get back together. "Oh, no. _Peter._"

"Who's Peter?" Tony asked, leaning forward.

"No one." He shook his head, his curls bouncing slightly.

Tony pursed his lips and his voice was quiet. "Is he someone you're interested in?"

"I am not interested in Peter," Cameron spat venomously. He slapped his phone down and his mouth twisted into a scowl.

"I see. But it's obvious he's interested in you."

Cameron chuckled darkly. "Not by a long shot."

"Then why is he sending you all those messages?" Tony asked, nodding at the phone.

"You saw all of the messages?" Cameron asked, horrified.

He shrugged and glanced at the windows. "Again, it doesn't help when your phone doesn't have a passcode."

Cameron sighed. "He's just an ex. He doesn't mean anything to me. Long story short, he lied to me a lot and nothing was working out," he said. After a minute, he added, "He probably just sent those because it was a dare or something."

Tony looked at him, not believing a word the blond said.

"Let's get back to work, shall we?" Cameron said hastily and flipped through the textbook clumsily.

* * *

When Cameron returned to the East wing after the stifling tutoring session—in the middle of which Tony had pulled out a bag of candy that he'd collected for the evening, and they'd eaten it, piece by piece, until there was nothing left—he found the doors coated in gauzy spider webs.

For a minute he stared at it, then reached out to touch it. It didn't feel real, like the spider webs that hung from the trees by the track, and he pushed the door open, trying not to touch too much of it.

Inside, all the lights were shut off and he was cast into darkness. The only pinprick of light came from the common room. Cameron took a step forward and his heel hit something slick, causing him to slide back and fall on his backside.

"Alright, guys," he called to the ceiling, "if you're here and you're watching me make a fool out of myself, just give it up. I know it's Halloween and everything, but I'm not in the mood to be scared."

Only silence.

Cameron clambered to his feet and he felt the back of his uniform coated with something slick and sticky that made him gag. Half his bag was covered in the gunk and he wiped his hands against his pants, disgusted. He made sure to be careful when he walked past the kitchen and when he did, the doors suddenly sprung open. He yelped.

Smoke poured out of the open doors, a sick green color, and it was accompanied by the smell of pumpkin and candy. The smoke was too thick to see through it, but he could see faint silhouettes moving around. Cameron was too startled to even begin to move.

"Hello, Cameron Taylor," came a deep voice from the depths of the kitchen. "Welcome to the annual East Halloween party. Please, come in and make yourself at home."

But Cameron didn't move. "Alright, guys, I give up. I'm done, okay?"

A handful of candy was pelted through the doorway and it hit him in a shower. He raised an arm to hide his face and he started forward to the doors, trying desperately to not slip on whatever was coating the floor.

Bracing his hands against the frame of the door, he leaned forward. "Stop, guys. I'm serious."

"Aw, come on, Cam!" Hayden's voice complained. "At least be scared a little bit. We were trying to step it up this year with the whole voice-changer. Did that at least scare you at all?"

The lights flickered on overhead and Cameron blinked. The kitchen had been transformed from a chemistry lab to what looked like the inside of a witch's house. The curtains were drawn and a large cauldron sat on the kitchen island. Michael stood on a small ladder with a wooden spoon in his hand that seemed too big for a normal person; he was stirring whatever was in the cauldron and he was dressed in a long white coat with spectacles on his face.

Hayden was leaning against the fridge, jamming a handful of candy in his mouth. He donned a tight black shirt with a pair of wire glasses perched on his nose. He wore a bald cap over his head to hide his hair.

"What are you wearing?" Cameron asked, squinting his eyes at him.

"Take a guess," he said gleefully as he spread his arms out.

Cameron merely looked at him, shaking his head.

"Oh, come _on. _The creator of Apple?" he prompted. "I'm Steve Jobs, for crying out loud."

"Told you he wouldn't get it. You should've put your hands up in front of your face to look like you were praying. He would've gotten it then," Michael snickered from the ladder. He paused in stirring to wipe the back of his hand against his forehead.

Hayden rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I bet he doesn't know what you are, either."

"And _he _is right here," Cameron said pointedly with his hands on his hips. He glanced at Michael. "And you're Frankenstein's creator, right?"

Michael stuck his tongue out at Hayden and started stirring again. "Ha! Told you he would get it," he said boastfully.

"So, if you're Frankenstein's creator, where is Frankenstein—?" Cameron started, but a loud thump at the door made him whip around.

A boy with green paint covering his face, neck, and hands trudged in with his arms outstretched, making groaning noises. Two small pegs were stuck on either side of his neck and he wore tattered clothes. But the thing that gave him away was the black boot that encircled his leg.

"And there he is now! My creation!" Michael declared in a dramatic voice. He abandoned the cauldron and hopped down from the ladder.

"Your idiot, is more like it," Hayden huffed.

"Heyo, don't diss the Frankenstein! And I am not an idiot," Louis proclaimed, dropping his arms to his side. He smiled at Cameron. "What do you think, Cam? Don't I look pretty smashing?"

Cameron nodded and circled him. "You actually look really good. The cast gives it that effect."

"And it helps because I can hardly walk, and Frankenstein always walks with a sort of a limp," he added happily. He stood by Michael. "The beast and his creator."

"Where's Roger? Shouldn't he be dressed by now?" Hayden asked. He brushed past Cameron to the door and peered out.

"I think he's still gluing on his moustache," Louis mentioned. He yanked one of the pegs off the side of his neck and rubbed the skin there, then replaced it.

Cameron raised his eyebrows. "What could he possibly be dressed up as where he needs a moustache?"

"Think popular video game plumber," Michael told him.

"Please tell me he's not wearing overalls," Hayden asked as he returned to Cameron's side. "I don't think I could stand to see him in overalls that are too short for him."

A short rap on the door made them turn around and Louis burst into a fit of laughter.

Roger stood in the doorway, donning a long pair of overalls with a red shirt underneath. Bulky white gloves covered his hands and a red beret sat atop his head. A thick moustache was attached to his upper lip and he grinned.

"Well, what do you think? Do I look like I should be fighting Bowser?" he asked, turning around.

"I think you look like you need to go change," Louis said through laughs.

His face dropped. "Is it that bad?"

"It's just the overalls," Hayden assured him. "I think he'll laugh at anyone wearing overalls. But at least they're long enough so that they don't hug your crotch like a needy girlfriend."

Roger nodded in relief. "That was really bad."

Cameron leaned against the fridge with his hands in his pockets and he felt suddenly underdressed. "What's with the cauldron?"

"That, my good friend, is the punch bowl," Michael said giddily. He scurried up the ladder and leaned over the enormous bowl, reaching for a ladle. He scooped some of the liquid, which was bubbling and a blinding shade of pink, into a cup and he handed it down to Cameron.

"Is this spiked?" he squeaked, watching it bubble slowly.

"Nope. It's a new recipe," Michael beamed, coming down the ladder.

Cameron nearly dropped the cup. "Does that mean I'm the guinea pig that has to try it to make sure it's not poisonous?"

"Basically," Roger said with a definite nod.

Cameron's fingers tightened around it. "If I die, you guys are not getting anything," he murmured worriedly. He tipped the cup back and felt the pink liquid in his mouth with the consistency of a smoothie.

At first, it tasted vile, almost like rotten milk, but then it became sweeter and tasted similar to bubble gum. He swallowed and licked his lips.

"What kind of recipe is this, anyway? It tastes like bubble gum," he said, licking his lips again.

"Oh, good," Michael sighed. "That's what it was supposed to taste like. I was freaking out because I thought it would backfire and explode, or taste nasty."

Hayden took the glass from Cameron's hand and downed half of it. "This _is _really good, Michael. You need to make this more often."

The Precursor beamed happily and climbed up the ladder again.

"So where did you get a cauldron this big?" Cameron asked as he circled the island. The cauldron seemed too big to be real, if Michael needed a ladder to stir it.

"Places," he said briskly, not looking at him.

"What kind of places?"

"Places that are unknown to you and shall stay unknown to you."

Cameron looked at the others, who all glanced away. Suddenly the rest of the kitchen became more interesting, smoke and fake cobwebs and all.

"Hey, Cameron," Roger said, "you should dress up. I mean, it's Halloween and everything. The rest of the wing is dressing up for the party tonight."

"I don't like dressing up," he replied, which elicited gasps from the others and made Michael drop the oversized wooden spoon.

Hayden blanched. "You don't like dressing up? Not even on Halloween?"

"No. I know you're supposed to, but I stopped doing that when I was seven years old," Cameron said with the shrug of one shoulder.

Louis slapped his forehead and leaned dramatically against Michael. "Oh, boy. You are missing out if you don't dress up. It's Halloween!"

"I know, I know. I just never had a need to," he said.

"Well, now there is a definite need to," Michael said from the ladder.

Roger snapped his fingers. "You should be the Luigi to my Mario."

"If there's something you're trying to say, Roger, I think you should get it out right now," Hayden teased.

"Shut up. I'm just saying, since I'm Mario and I have no Luigi, and Cameron doesn't have a costume idea, he should be Luigi," he said, almost in one breath. He straightened the hat on his head and looked at Cameron. "What do you say? I've got an extra pair of overalls and gloves in my room."

Cameron sighed and rubbed his temples. "Okay, why not? It is Halloween, after all."

* * *

A few hours later, Cameron snapped one of the buttons on the loose overalls repeatedly. They had been too small for Roger to wear, but Cameron seemed to swim in them. He wore an old green t-shirt of his brother's underneath, and a green hat fit snuggly over his head. The gloves on his hands were bulky and made him feel like Mickey Mouse. Worst of all, the moustache itched. A lot.

But he did look like Luigi, so he guessed that was the point of dressing up.

Now, he lingered in the corner of the commons as Halloween-themed music blasted through the speakers, so loud that he could feel the beat pulsing in his bones. The lights had been wired so that they flashed different colors in a specific pattern and a bucket of dry ice sat on the window seat. The furniture had been moved out of the way and a large bucket with water and apples sat in the middle of the room.

Along the side wall, the table was filled with bowls of candy, chips, and other sweets. Michael's punch had been divided into two servings, one being in here in several bowls, and the other staying in the large cauldron in the kitchen.

Most of the other boys had dressed up. So far, Cameron had seen a calculator, two boys dressed as matching earbuds, the president, Link from the video games, Storm Troopers, and Edward from the 'Twilight' series, complete with gelled hair and glitter.

He had been stopped more than once to get a picture with Roger, and he'd taken pictures with Louis, Hayden, and Michael. He'd been in the front of several group shots, and then in singles by himself. There were a few boys from his other classes that he posed with, and for once, he was starting to feel comfortable with his wing and boarding.

_And all it took was nearly a month, _he thought to himself as he took a sip of Michael's pink drink.

"Hey," Hayden said, appearing next to him with a plateful of food. "How's it going?"

"Good," Cameron said. He took a cupcake off Hayden's plate and licked the icing off his fingers.

"You're not talking to anyone," he pointed out through a mouthful of food.

He shrugged and the icing tasted like candy. "I just like to sit aside and watch things happen. It's the way things work with me. On the outside looking in, I suppose."

"Yeah, I suppose," Hayden said, "but you should be enjoying the party! Michael's got the strobe lights going in the hallway, finally, and we're going to start the limbo tournament soon."

Cameron choked back a laugh. "You guys do limbo?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't we do limbo?" He set down his plate on the window seat and adjusted his bald cap, itching the edges. "God, this thing is annoying me. But it's a small price to pay if I want to be Steve Jobs."

"I think you're a spitting image," Cameron said with a smile. He finished off his cupcake and tossed the wrapper on Hayden's plate. "So, when do these things usually end? Ten?"

Hayden stopped scratching to stare at him. "Are you kidding me? They don't end until maybe one in the morning. At least, that's how long last year's lasted," he said.

"But we have class tomorrow," he protested.

"We do, but relax, Cameron." Hayden placed an arm around his shoulder. "Just take a chill pill for tonight. We're here to have fun, and that's what we're going to do. Just because East is the smart wing, doesn't mean we can't stay up late and have a good time." He clapped his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

Cameron leaned against the wall and scratched at his mustache, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was only nine. One o'clock seemed really far off.

* * *

At eleven o'clock, Cameron moved out of the commons after the limbo tournament. He'd been one of the last ones standing until he fell onto his back, and he'd been declared third place. The ribbon pinned to his overalls proved it.

In the hallway, the strobe lights were at full force, making his eyes ache. Cobwebs were draped over the large model of the solar system, making the planets and moons look eerie in the light. The loud chatter of boys filled his ears and he dodged past people to move into the kitchen.

Strangely, it was much quieter than the hallway and the commons combined. Michael was leaning over the cauldron with his oversized spoon in his hand, stirring up what was left in the cauldron. Louis was seated at the back table with his phone against his ear and he popped the pegs off his neck to reveal two small, skin-colored dots.

"Who's Louis talking to?" Cameron asked quietly, leaning against the counter.

"His boyfriend, Oscar," Michael replied, giving the batter a slow turn. "Oscar always calls more than once on holidays. He called three times before the party started."

Cameron nodded and he pulled the mustache off his lip with a wince. "Where's Hayden and the rest of them?"

"In the hallway. I think they're doing some sort of dance off," he answered.

"Why aren't you out there?"

Michael looked up. "I don't really dance, unless it's for the Warblers. It's not really my thing," he said. "Plus, someone needs to tend to this extra… whatever it is." He gestured to the cauldron.

"Yeah, I don't really like dancing, either," Cameron agreed. He looked at one of the trays filled with food that sat on the counter, and he picked up a small cake. "What are these?"

"Don't try those! They're poison!" Louis shouted from the back, a hand over the receiver of his phone. He tucked his phone to his ear, murmuring, "Sorry, had to save the life of one of my friends…"

Cameron slowly set it down and backed away from the counter.

"They're not poison," Michael said warmly. "I think Jordan made them. He told us they all had cow intestines baked into them, but I don't think so."

"Still, I think I'll pass," he said. "Is anything edible in this place?"

"I think the only thing you can stomach is this pink stuff, to be honest. And the candy. But because it's bought from the store. Everything that is made here is probably mixed with something gross," Michael said. He set down the large spoon and sat down on the top step of the ladder.

Cameron puckered his lips. "Everything just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"And it only gets better from here," Louis chimed in from the back. He'd finished his call and was moving away from the table. "At midnight, we like to lurk around the campus. Sometimes, the lurking gets a little too much and someone gets hurt, but—"

"Don't tell him that!" Michael scolded.

"Lurking?" Cameron repeated.

Louis shrugged and scratched his eyebrow, and some of the green face paint came off. "The wings like to play a few Halloween pranks on each other, just to poke a little fun. There's a railway a few miles from here, somewhere"—he pointed in the opposite direction of the highway—"and last year, someone—"

Cameron covered his mouth. "Don't tell me someone got hit."

"No, no," Michael laughed. "Someone from East had a really, really powerful spotlight and while all the wings were out there, they pretended they were a train. We really scared the hell out of Ian and that bunch of Souths."

"Y-you scared Ian? On the train track?"

"You betcha!" Louis said happily. "He really hates trains, and his shoe got caught on one of the tracks. He totally thought he was going to get it, didn't he?"

Michael's smile faded. "But Markus made us promise to never do that again. He made me swear on a bible, Louis. A bible."

"Bible, schmible. Are you religious?"

"No, but—"

Louis clapped his hands. "Then we can do it again!"

"No, we can't," he said and he removed the glasses from his nose. "Last time, Markus made me promise to keep it all inside the campus. No going out to the highway or out to the train tracks or out to the shopping district."

"Markus is such a drag. He needs to lighten up a little," Louis complained.

Michael glared at him. "We're not going out to the train tracks. We're staying right here."

Louis shoved him in the shoulder. "Lord, you're no fun anymore. What happened to the boy who used to scorch the ceiling by accident, then started doing it for fun?"

He turned beet red. "He's a Precursor now, and he doesn't scorch the ceiling for fun."

"Why don't we just scorch it now? I mean, we can always blame it on silly Halloween pranks."

"No, Louis."

"You're no fun," he repeated.

* * *

At midnight, the strobe lights in the hallway shut off. The music in the commons stopped, and the smoke machine sputtered, ceasing. The only light came from the kitchen, and it threw shadows across the main hallway of the wing.

Cameron stuck his head out the kitchen door and all he saw was darkness and the faint shadows of the fake spider webs. He had spent the last hour with Louis and Michael in the kitchen, talking and trying to figure out which food was edible and which was not.

"What's going on?" he whispered, pulling his head back in.

Louis grinned and stuck the pegs back on the sides of his neck. "This, my friend, is where the fun starts."

"I don't like the sound of that," he said and his voice rose.

"It's going to be okay," Michael said in a gentle tone, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Louis. "Do you think we should keep him in here, or—?"

Louis waved a hand at him. "Nah, he needs to get a grip on this, firsthand."

"I don't want to get a grip on anything, thank you very much," Cameron spat, folding his arms over his chest. "I'd like to stay here and eat more of that pink stuff, not get scared out of my wits."

Michael and Louis shared a look.

"Alright, you can stay," Louis said solemnly.

"I'd almost rather you stay here," Michael said, to Cameron's relief. "Because crazy things can happen, and I don't want you to be in the middle of it."

"Thank you," Cameron said with a smile. He felt the tension in his chest loosen and he pulled the hate from his head.

Louis rolled his eyes and started toward the kitchen door. "If you need anything, Cam, just call one of us, got it? And if we need anything, we'll call you," he said, pushing the door open. "Like, if Hayden's strapped to the train tracks as part of Ian's evil get-even plot, we'll call you."

Cameron furrowed his brows but before he could reply, Louis was gone.

"Don't worry about us," Michael said warmly. "We're going to be fine. And Hayden's not going anywhere near the railroad. I won't permit it." He gave a kind smile and followed Louis out the door, and Cameron was faced with the empty kitchen.

The air conditioner clicked on overhead, making some of the spider webs move. He stayed in the kitchen for a few minutes more before grabbing a cupcake off one of the trays. He licked the icing off slowly as he navigated his way down the dark hallway toward the rooms.

As he walked, he pulled his room key from one of the pockets in the overalls and unlocked the door, letting himself inside and shutting it. The room was bathed in the soft glow of one of the lamps Hayden had left on by accident.

Cameron chewed half his cupcake as he changed out of his Luigi costume, favoring a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. He took the rest of it and sat down at his desk, spinning in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

As he spun, his only options were to pack up his telescope and sit out on the soccer field, but he had a feeling that the field would be booby trapped with something. Instead, he grabbed his bag and pulled out a History essay that was due the next week.

For the next twenty minutes, he typed expertly into his laptop, pausing to rub his eyes. Then, at almost a quarter to one in the morning, something tapped against his window.

Cameron froze where he was, his hands poised over the keyboard, and he waited with his breath caught in his chest. The tapping didn't come again and he dropped his hands into his lap.

"It's probably just Louis or Hayden, trying to scare me," he muttered under his breath as he tried to resume typing.

But the tapping came again. And this time, he recognized it. Could someone recognize tapping? Was that even possible?

Cameron slowly stood up and he swallowed over the lump that had formed in his throat. His heart picked up pace significantly when he gripped the curtain and drew it back with a snap.

In the darkness, he saw nothing. His eyes scanned the yard that he could see, spotting the outline of the sports fields and the distant lights of the highway, and—

When a face appeared on the other side of the glass, Cameron shrieked and stumbled back. Shaking, he scooted back, his eyes cast down at the floor and his stomach churning wildly.

Then a muffled, "Hey, Cameron, open the window. It's me." The tapping again, and it was clear.

"Tony?" Cameron hissed. He got to his feet, somewhat wobbly, and he leaned over to unlock the window and push it up. He had to attempt it twice because of his shaking hands, but he got it pushed up to the top.

The face he had seen through the glass was Tony's, and he stood outside, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He smiled when Cameron leaned forward. "Hey, Cameron," he said.

"What are you doing out there?" Cameron asked and he leaned farther out the window. "I thought you were supposed to be at North's Halloween party. Or whatever they're doing right now."

Tony shrugged lazily and he leaned against the building. Then he braced his hands against the frame and leaned forward, right in Cameron's face. His eyes seemed brighter than usual. "I was, but now I'm not."

Cameron pulled back and he squinted at him. "Tony, are you… are you drunk?"

"Drunk? What makes you say that?" he said with a chuckle. He pressed his shoulder against the frame, the silly smile still smeared on his face.

Cameron wrinkled his nose. "Well, you sort of smell like alcohol."

"So? That doesn't mean I was drinking, necessarily," Tony pointed out. He ran a hand through his orange hair, feeling it with his fingers.

"And you're smiling a lot. You've smiled more in the past few minutes than I've ever seen you smile," he added. "You're obviously drunk, Tony. How many did you have?"

He shook his head. Part of him looked still in control, conscious, but he moved clumsily. "Someone spiked the punch bowl. I can't really remember how much I've had."

"Oh, goodness gracious. What are you doing outside my window, anyway?" Cameron asked and stepped forward.

Tony licked his lips and grinned, a dimple appearing at the corners of his mouth, and he met Cameron's eyes. "Well, the party's kind of over, since everyone's over in the main building, pranking everyone else," he said and waved at the school building.

Cameron stood back and put his hands on his hips. "Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because I didn't feel like it. I didn't want to get into one of their big messes." He chuckled, which turned into a snort, and he covered his mouth.

"Did everyone go?"

"Every single guy," Tony said articulately. He leaned his head on one shoulder, then the other. "So the entire wing is absolutely fu—"

Cameron pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's your name?"

Tony's smiled dropped. "What?"

"I said, what's your name."

He leaned forward through the window again. "You know my name, Cam."

"You're right, I do know your name," Cameron said, "but I want to make sure you're sober enough that you remember your name."

"Anthony Edward Hart," he said meticulously, making sure to be precise on all the syllables.

Cameron tilted his head to the side. "I didn't know your middle name was Edward."

"Well, now you know," Tony said. His lips turned up crookedly. "What's your middle name, Cam?"

"Let's not get into that. You need to go back to your dorm. You shouldn't be out here right now."

"Oh, come on. I bet it's something fancy, like William or James," he went on. He threaded his fingers through his hair again and pressed the ends of it. He lazily looked over him.

Cameron rolled his eyes. "Go back to your dorm, Tony. You're obviously drunk off your ass and you need to sleep."

Tony got down on his knees in the grass and rested his arms along the frame of the window, his chin placed on his hands. He looked up at Cameron from underneath long lashes. "Come with me, Cam."

"What?" His heart jumped into his throat.

"If you want me to go back to my dorm so bad, why don't you just come with me?" he asked again. The smile was inerasable from his face.

Cameron shook his head firmly and his hands itched to slam the window shut. "I'm not going back to your dorm with you. You know the way."

"But you did say I was drunk off my ass," he said in a sing-song voice.

"I think if you're sober enough to walk around the building," Cameron said tautly, "I think you can go back the way you came."

Tony shook his head and stumbled to his feet. He licked his lips. "If you're not going to come with me, let me stay with you."

He raised his eyebrows and he felt his face catch fire. "No. I'm not letting you stay with me. Hayden—"

"Where is Hayden?" he asked. He leaned forward through the window to search Cameron's room. "Where are he and all the others?"

"They all went to the main building. I have no idea when any of them are going to be back, but I don't want them finding you in my room, especially when they all hate you," Cameron reported.

His stomach churched when Tony placed his hands on either side of the window and started to hoist himself in. Cameron placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him back outside.

Tony pouted his lower lip. "Aw, come on, Cam. Please?"

"Yep, you are most definitely drunk," Cameron muttered bitterly under his breath. "Okay, fine. Help me out." He stretched his hands forward.

Tony squinted at him. "What?"

"Here's what we're going to do: I'll go with you back to your room and you're going to get some sleep, okay?" Cameron explained patiently, though his nerves were wearing thinner by the minute. "Okay?"

"Gotcha," he replied. "But why do you want to be out here? Why can't we just go through East? It's faster."

"Because I don't want to. That's my reason. And if there are still a few who stayed back, I don't want them seeing you. I can't imagine what would happen then," Cameron explained. He squinted at him. "Plus, I don't want you to wreck anything."

"I'm not going to wreck anything." Tony rolled his eyes, but held out his hands. He carefully helped Cameron out through the window, but when Cameron's feet touched the ground, he stumbled forward and found his chest pressed flush to Tony's.

"Hey," Tony said softly, his breath washing over Cameron's face. Cameron wrinkled his nose, smelling the aftermath of spearmint and alcohol and something sweet. He unlatched his hands from Tony's and stepped back.

"Come on. If we're going all the way around a building," he mumbled, already walking, "we might as well start now."

Tony caught up with him and their shoulders bumped together. "Hey, I just thought of this, but can I call you Cammie?"

"Cammie?" Cameron repeated. "What? No. No, you can't."

"Yeah, I'm going to call you Cammie from now on."

"You're not going to call me Cammie. Call me that, and I'll punch you in the face."

Tony suddenly stepped in front of him, looking down on him; Tony's chin was about level with the top of Cameron's head. "You wouldn't punch me in the face."

Cameron swallowed, hard. "Try me."

"Cammie."

Biting his lip, he dropped his head and shoved past him to start around the next side of the building. His pulse raced in his ears.

"Ha, I told you you wouldn't punch me," Tony said triumphantly and he jogged after him.

"I don't think I could ever punch you," Cameron muttered.

"And why's that?" Tony bumped his shoulder again.

He stepped away. "I just can't punch you. You're… I don't hurt people."

Tony made a scoffing noise. "You hit me all the time. What's one punch?"

"I can't punch people in the face. Happy?" Cameron snapped.

Tony rolled his eyes but kept quiet. He walked beside Cameron around the next side of the building, and then they stood in front of the doors to North. Cameron tentatively peeked through the glass and found no one in the hallway.

"Alright, after you," Cameron said as he stepped back.

"Why do I have to go first?" Tony asked.

"It's your wing."

"I can't open a door. I'm too drunk." A grin appeared on his face.

Cameron buried his face in his hands. "Need I remind you that you left your Halloween party pretty much drunk and then walked around an entire building twice? If you can do that, I think you can open a door."

"Fine, fine, make me do all the work," Tony mumbled, reaching for the handle. He pushed the door open and strolled in, Cameron following him.

Thankfully, the doors to the common room were closed, as well as the kitchen doors, and no one seemed to be in sight. Festive decorations hung from the walls and a large smoke machine was still producing white wisps in the corner. He followed Tony down a hallway that looked not unlike the one in the East wing, and doors lined the walls.

"Which room is yours?" he said in a whisper, eyes flickering between doors.

Without replying, Tony continued to walk down the corridor, only stopping when he'd reached the last door. He leaned against it and fumbled for a key in his pocket, jamming it lazily into the lock and throwing the door open.

Cameron swallowed and followed him. He stood on the threshold of the room with his arms over his chest.

Tony's room looked somewhat like the one he shared with Hayden, with the bathroom immediately to the left and windows on the far wall. A bureau with an empty surface leaned against wall on the right and only one bed occupied the space. His guitar sat on a stand by the desk that was positioned by the windows.

But what surprised Cameron was that the wall behind the bed was tacked with papers upon papers. Hundreds of sheets of white paper covered the wall, from the ceiling to the floor. They were all tacked up with nails or staples or push pins and they fluttered faintly in the breeze of the air conditioning.

Curious, Cameron shut the door quietly behind him and approached the wall. All the papers seemed to be covered in Tony's chicken scratch handwriting, all saying something different. Some of them had lines of handwritten music on them and others had a few simple words on them, or even sketches. One in particular caught his eye:

_In a world filled with shades of grey, we'll color it up and escape to our perfect place_

"What are you looking at?" Tony's voice came from behind him.

Cameron jumped and placed a hand over his heart. "Nothing. I mean, I was just looking at what you have written on some of the papers—"

"It's nothing important," he said flatly. His eyes, once bright, were now dull and he almost seemed tired.

"If it's nothing important, then why is it covering your entire wall?" he asked and glanced back at the wall. The color of the wall wasn't even able to be distinguished.

Tony shrugged one shoulder tiredly and he sat down on the edge of the single bed. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Cameron fiddled with his hands. "Well, you're back in your room. I guess I should get going. I need to work on an essay for next week."

"Will you stay?" Tony asked suddenly and he raised his head. Then his eyes were glowing.

"What?" he said, the word coming out in a long breath.

Tony fell onto his side and licked his lips, looking sideways at Cameron. "Will you stay with me, Cameron?"

Cameron blinked and the heat rushed to his face. "Why do you want me to stay?"

"Your presence is nice. I like it." He reached for a pillow and hugged it to his chest, and he curled his knees to his body.

"I'm not staying, Tony. I need to get back to my own wing," he said insistently.

Now Tony sat upright and his eyes looked clear and alert, and he said nothing. His eyes wandered over Cameron with almost an urgency that made Cameron squirm.

"Stop looking at me like that, alright? It's kind of creeping me out," Cameron said finally. He wrapped his arms around his torso self-consciously and he shifted his weight back and forth.

"I never get to look at you like this," Tony said bluntly. "Whenever we're in Math class, I always see the back of your head and never the front of you, and during Warblers class I can't stare at you because you might catch me and that would be really embarrassing."

Cameron's pulse raced in his ears and he blinked questioningly. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," Tony went on, a simple look on his face; his voice sounded tired. "I hardly ever get to look at you like this, and you're just so… so beautiful, Cameron"—he paused to swallow and take a breath—"and I'm jealous of Hayden, and… and Roger, and all the others 'cause they get to look at you all the time and they don't realize how beautiful you are 'cause they're not gay and they don't think like that—well, except Louis but he's already taken, and… and I just really, really like looking at you, and… yeah."

Cameron's lips were parted in astonishment. He had hardly listened to anything Tony had said after the, "You're just so… so beautiful" part, but he had caught hints of it. Now his hands were limp at his sides and every attempt to speak ended with short gasping sounds.

"Oh, my God. You are so drunk," he whispered faintly.

"Are you staring at me like that 'cause you like looking at me too?" Tony asked hopefully, clutching the pillow lazily in his hands.

"No, I'm staring at you because that's the craziest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," Cameron corrected hastily.

Tony furrowed his brows. "But it's not crazy, that's really what I think—"

"No, you're only saying that because of the alcohol," he said over him. "It's making you say things that you wouldn't normally say."

"I would say that normally!" he protested.

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "Really. So if I came up to you tomorrow and asked you to repeat all of it, would you?"

Tony bobbed his head seriously. "Absolutely. Just get a pen and write it all down, 'cause I probably won't remember tomorrow."

"See? That's the thing. Alcohol makes you say things that you might mean, but it makes you forget the next day," he said, fidgeting. "So whatever you said becomes null."

"Well, what I just said isn't going to become null," Tony said with a sharpness to his tone. He clutched the pillow tighter and rested his chin on the edge of it. The flush in his cheeks was slowly starting to drain away and his eyes didn't look as bright and unfocused as they had been. He tilted his head to the side. "So will you just stay with me, Cam? Just for tonight?"

Cameron wrung his hands together. Why was he still here, standing in Tony's room? Why didn't he just leave and stop stalling? He had the power to do that, the power to do whatever he wanted. No one was holding him back.

"Ten minutes," he sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. "That's all I'm staying."

A grin broke out on Tony's face and it was simple, genuine, one that Cameron had never seen on him before. All the others he had seen were short and almost forced.

"Awesome," he said. He scooted over and patted the space on the bed next to him. "Well, what are you doing? Sit down. After walking around a building, I'm pretty sure you're probably really tired." There was a sardonic glint in his eye.

Cameron curled his toes inside his shoes. He glanced at the wall of papers, as if that would somehow help him, and he easily found the sheet with the quote he had read earlier; it almost jumped out at him like a splash of color against black. Sighing, he turned back to Tony and slowly climbed onto the bed.

* * *

"…and it was terrible. I didn't want to tell anyone, though, because I'd looked up stories on the internet about it, and they all ended… not so good," Tony said. He paused to lick his lips and he shifted on the bed. "So I didn't tell my dad or my sisters or any of my friends about it because I didn't want to be like the people who'd written all those stories on the internet. I didn't want to get beaten up at school or kicked out of my house."

Cameron nodded faintly, sprawled across Tony's bed with one of his pillows under his head. He was staring at the ceiling, soaking up every word Tony said. He had been in this position for the past two hours and he listened to Tony as he started rambling.

At first, he had buried his face in a pillow for ten minutes and refused to tell Cameron what was wrong. Then he'd lifted his head up and launched into a story about his mother, who had passed from cancer during his freshman year. Throughout the story, Cameron had chewed on his thumb nail.

The story about his mother gradually became into one about middle school. Cameron hadn't realized where it was going or what he was talking about until Tony had bluntly said something about, "liking guys like I should like girls."

Then Cameron had blushed pink enough to match the color of a carnation.

Now, that was where he was, listening as Tony rambled about middle school and admitting that he liked boys over girls.

"Did you ever tell your dad?" Cameron wondered quietly. He had to focus his eyes because of the low lighting in the room, which was provided by a tall floor lamp in the corner, and because of his exhaustion.

Tony shrugged one shoulder. He had sobered up significantly in the past two hours. The goofy grin that seemed to appear every five seconds was gone, replaced by his usual pursed lips, and his eyes were not alight or with a certain haze that came from drinking. He almost acted the way he would normally.

"I didn't tell him, per say," he mumbled now. "He sort of was looking through the internet history on our family computer. I'd used the home one because I didn't have my own. So he was looking through it and found all these sites that related to being gay and 'admitting your feelings', and he made me tell him what was going on."

Cameron turned onto his side to face him, burying his face into the pillow. "Was he alright with that?"

Tony stretched his legs out in front of him. "Sort of. He didn't really approve of having a gay son, but he didn't necessarily kick me out of the house, either. He knows I'm gay, but doesn't want to face the fact." He took on a puzzled expression. "That makes sense, right?"

"That makes sense," Cameron assured as he blinked tiredly.

"Like, he's fine and everything," he went on, "but he just doesn't want me to get a boyfriend. I think he'd really kick me out if I told him I was dating someone else."

Cameron stifled a yawn. "Does anyone else know? Do your sisters?"

"Sort of. They were around when my dad first talked to me about it, so they kind of get the idea. But no one else knows," he said. He flopped back onto the bed and pressed the pillow over his face. A moment later he pulled it away to glance at Cameron. "Does anyone know about you?"

Cameron suddenly felt wide awake. "What?"

"That you're gay. Does anyone know that you're gay?" he repeated.

Cameron merely stared at him, his mouth feeling dry.

Tony pulled the pillow away and rolled onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hands, waiting for him to answer. "You told me, remember? When I shoved you into that closet at Sectionals and we both sort of admitted it?"

"No, I remember," Cameron murmured. Sectionals was a day he was not pleased with remembering as well as he did.

"So does anyone know?" he repeated.

He swallowed over the lump that had formed in his throat. "Well, um, my parents, for two. And Hayden and the others, and my friends back at my old school," he listed hesitantly. "And you. You know."

"Well, now we both know about each other and there won't be any more awkwardness between us," Tony said with a slight smile. Abruptly his jovial expression dropped. When he spoke, he sounded almost completely sober. "Cameron, may I ask you something?"

Cameron shifted and he curled his knees closer to him. "Okay. What?"

"What do you really think of me?"

"What do I think of you?" he repeated.

Tony traced circles in the fabric of the bed comforter with his finger, bumping into Cameron's elbow before continuing. "Yeah, what you think of me. Because I know you've been pretty pissed at me lately, and I just want to know what you really think of me."

"I… I don't know, to be honest," Cameron said and his eyes were focused downward.

Tony propped himself on his elbows and the low lighting made his eyes look nearly molten. "Oh, come on, Cam. You've got to have some opinion about me. Like Hayden and the others. They all think I'm a pain in the ass and most of the Warblers probably want to push me onto the highway at rush hour."

"They do not," Cameron said, rolling his eyes.

"If you asked them when I wasn't around, they probably would."

Cameron shook his head firmly. "I'm sure they don't think too badly of you."

"I don't really care what they think," Tony said quietly. He raised his eyes to meet Cameron's. "I care what you think."

His heart jumped into his throat and he stifled a cough. "Well, I… I think you're nice."

When Tony laughed, it sounded close to music. "Nice? That's all you have to say about me?"

"And talented?"

"Everyone thinks I'm talented. I play the guitar and I sing," Tony said with a smile. "I want to hear what your opinion of me, not everyone else's."

Cameron pursed his lips. "But I do think you're talented. Aside from Peter, you're one of the greatest guitar players I've seen."

As soon as he spoke, he wanted to take back the words. He saw a curious look slip onto Tony's face. "Who's Peter?"

"He's…" Cameron wrinkled his nose, then buried his face in the pillow. "He's sort of my ex-boyfriend."

The mattress shifted when Tony sat up. "What does 'sort of' mean? Are you two still dating?"

"No, we're not," Cameron said sternly, and the words felt easy coming off his tongue, almost liberating. "He was a guy I had choir with back at my old school, but we had trust issues and I broke up with him. End of story."

"Oh." Tony looked at him with an expression that couldn't be identified. Then he sort of smiled. "Is he as good as me? Singing and guitar-wise."

He pulled his face from the pillow and turned onto his side to face him once more. "He's good, but I think you're better," he said. "And you're nicer, too. Peter is nice, but he doesn't make me smile or laugh often."

"And I do?" Tony said, biting his lip.

Cameron's stomach fluttered and he buried his face again. He stifled a chuckle. "Yes. Stop. You're going to make me laugh."

"Since when? I don't say anything that funny, do I?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's just… something. There's just something about you that makes me want to smile," Cameron admitted, looking up from the pillow.

Tony hid his face in the comforter, the blankets muffling his laughter. "You're so cheesy, Cam. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were drunk."

"Drunk? Why?" The idea seemed preposterous to him, as he'd never liked the smell of alcohol.

"You're not as uptight as you usually are. Whenever I see you, you always look like you're trying to work out a math problem in your head, or something," Tony said. "But right now, you just look really happy."

Cameron laughed shortly and rubbed his temple. The next thing he knew, Tony was on top of him, his fingers grasping for his waist. Cameron just about sprung off the side of the bed, but Tony's knees on either side of his legs held him steady. The pressure of Tony's fingers against his stomach made his skin tingle giddily and he turned onto his side.

"What… do you think… you're doing?" he said through a fit of laughter.

"I'm tickling you, that's what I'm doing," Tony said in his ear. He pulled his hands back and braced them on either side of Cameron.

Cameron carefully moved back onto his back and he found himself staring at Tony, not even six inches between their faces. His breath hitched in his throat and he licked his lips.

"Please tell me you are still really, really drunk right now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "because this is not something you would do."

"This is something you wouldn't do, either. Letting me do this. How do I know you're not drunk?" Tony pointed out.

Cameron pursed his lips. "Because I don't like alcohol."

Tony ducked his head and sighed, cautiously untangling himself, and he fell back onto the bed beside him. "Good. It does stupid things to your head."

"Like making you think that jumping onto me is a good idea?" he quipped.

"Exactly," Tony said, rolling onto his side to face him.

"And telling me that I'm beautiful?" Cameron's voice rose anxiously.

Tony furrowed his brows. "I'm not saying that just because of the alcohol. Are you going to stay here for the rest of the night?"

Cameron immediately bolted into an upright position. "The rest of the night? What?"

Tony sat up as well and rubbed his eyes, scanning the room for a clock. "Yeah, it's almost four—"

"It's been that long?" he exclaimed. He slid off the bed and struggled to find his shoes, groping blindly around for them.

"What's wrong with it being that long?"

Cameron finally found them tucked under the bed, and he yanked them on. "Hayden and the others are probably back and they're probably wondering where I am, Tony," he said breathlessly as he tugged his other shoe on. "They're going to ask questions when I get back and they'll wonder where I went."

"Then tell them you outside to sit around, or something. I've heard you do that a lot with your star stuff," Tony mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't see why it's a big deal."

"Because what if they ask me so many times where I've been that I finally crack and tell them I was with you?" he snapped. He stood up straight. "How would you deal with it if Hayden and the others thought you were gay?"

Tony blinked. "They won't think I'm gay just because I was hanging out with you."

"But what if they do? It's Hayden, we're talking about. He'll assume anything," Cameron sighed. "And Louis told me he has an excellent gaydar. His words, not mine."

"If Louis had an excellent gaydar," he said, "then he would've figured out that I'm gay a long time ago, Cam."

Cameron threaded his hands through his hair. "_But what if they do?_"

"Then I'll tell them the truth. That I actually am gay," Tony said simply.

"I thought you took an hour to explain that you didn't want anyone to know about it? You said you didn't feel the need to let everyone know about it, and that you were afraid of what would happen."

"I _am_ afraid of what would happen. But isn't everyone?" he asked.

Cameron stopped moving. He stared at him for a long while.

Tony ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up. "Just… stay here tonight, Cam. A few more hours. I like being with you," he murmured. "Tell Hayden that you got caught up with something. Didn't you say you liked looking at the stars?"

"I can't lie to them! They're my friends," Cameron exclaimed.

"And I'm not?" he asked, his voice suddenly harsh. He got to his feet. "Am I not your friend?"

Cameron felt small under his height. "You are, but sometimes I think I really hate you," he said lowly.

Tony rubbed his forehead, his eyes shut. "I'm sorry for shouting. I didn't mean to. And I don't want you to lie to them," he mumbled. "If they ask, just tell them… tell them Nate kidnapped you as part of a Halloween prank and you barely got out alive."

"You just said you didn't want me to lie, yet you gave me a lie," he said and he narrowed his eyes.

"So I contradicted myself. It's better than Hayden yelling at you if he found out you were in my bed for a few hours." A grin appeared on Tony's face and he stepped closer to him.

Cameron ducked his head to his chest. "I'm going back to my wing, Tony."

He stepped back, oddly silent. "Okay. I hope you don't get lost on the way back," he teased.

"Shut up," he muttered, hitting him once in the arm.

Tony smiled. "What's that about being a pacifist again?"

"I'm not a pacifist. I just have a thing against punching people in the face," Cameron said and he crossed the room to the door. "But don't worry, I'll hit you a lot."

"Hit me or hit _on _me?"

Cameron's face turned pink. "Shut up, Tony."

"You can call me Anthony, if you'd like," he said softly, his gaze warm. He traced a circle in the carpet with his toe. "I mean, I know I hate it when everyone calls me that, but you can."

"I think I'll stick with Tony. It suits you better," Cameron replied firmly, and he left without another word.

* * *

When he slipped into his room a few minutes later, he was faced with four stares, all of them sharp, glowing, and inquisitive. The four other boys were perched two to a bed, Hayden on his own with Roger, and Michael and Louis on the other. It reminded Cameron of the scenes in movies where the teenagers attempted to sneak back in, but the parents were already waiting.

"You guys are back already?" Cameron asked, trying to keep his voice casual. He kicked off his shoes and set them by the bureau.

"The lurking was a bust," Louis reported stiffly. "North dropped a bunch of spiders on us and South decided to trap us in the elevator. West didn't show up at all."

Cameron nodded and sat down at his desk, resuming the essay he had been working on when Tony showed up.

"But you, on the other hand," Hayden said. "What happened to you?"

"Uh, Nate came and he sort of kidnapped me. Part of a transfer Halloween initiation, or something," he replied. He didn't look up, didn't make eye contact, only looking at his computer screen.

Roger stood up from his spot on Hayden's bed. "How is that possible? Because Nate was with us the entire time. He was the one who dropped the spiders on us, actually," he said.

Cameron picked at his lip and finally twisted around in his seat. "Okay, fine. Tony came and kidnapped me. He was drunk and he blindfolded me, and he tied me to one of the soccer goals," he blurted, then bit his tongue. _What in the world did I just say? And __**why **__did I say __**that**__? Surely I could've come up with something better!_

"He was drunk?" Louis asked. He glanced at Michael. "I wonder if that's why all the Norths seemed off. Maybe they were all drunk."

"He tied you to a pole?" Hayden squeaked. He balled his hands into fists. "Why, I oughta—"

"Do nothing!" Cameron finished, gripping the armrests of his chair. "You don't need to do anything. It's just a silly Halloween prank for the transfers. It's no big deal. He didn't hurt me, or anything."

Roger looked unconvinced. "But Cameron, if he tied you to a pole—"

"He didn't hurt me," he repeated. "I'm fine. Like you said, I should just get used to being pranked like this. If you guys keep hiding me all the time, I'll never get used to it."

"But you told us he was drunk!" Michael protested weakly.

"That doesn't matter. North pranked you and I'm pretty sure the majority of them were drunk. What does it matter if Tony was the same way?"

For once, none of them had an answer. They all just shared looks, and finally, Michael, Louis, and Roger left the room, only to get up in a few hours for class. When the door shut behind them, Cameron slumped in his desk chair and sighed.

"So, he tied you to a pole, huh?" Hayden said with a flat chuckle. "Well, I suppose that was the best he could do if he was drunk. Imagine what he could've done if he was sober."

"What could he have done?" Cameron squeaked tensely.

Hayden merely laughed.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The Warblers discuss the Fall Fest, Hayden and the others devise a scheme, and Tony's plan gets a major hole._


	9. Midterm Mayhem

Hello, readers.

I hope all of you are doing well! To make this short, sorry for not updating in awhile. Midterms are coming up tomorrow and I've been studying a lot this past week. Plus, marching band is insane. We'll see how that goes.

Anyway, please enjoy this new chapter! Reviews are appreciated! Also, please check out my drabble fics, Fall Days, and what's there of Flying and the Final Dalton Flukes!

* * *

**Midterm Mayhem**

* * *

When midterms rolled around the next week, Cameron seemed to be the only one ready. The morning of, Hayden was found flipping through his science book for something with a packet in front of him. Roger was hyped up on caffeine to stay awake from a night of straight-through studying. Michael and Louis were both dead asleep when Cameron knocked on their door.

"I thought you guys were all prepared!" he said, watching them from the hallway. There were fifteen minutes before the start of first period, and none of them were dressed or ready.

"We are, mentally," Louis panted as he straightened his tie. The doors to his room, Louis and Michael's room, and Roger's room were all wide open as they pulled their things together.

"But physically, we might as well be living in the sewers," Michael finished. He patted down his hair, but it still stuck up oddly in the back.

Cameron put his face in his hands and leaned his weight on one foot. "We'll see about that. Roger, who was the eighteenth president of the United States?" he called to the door on his far left.

There was a heavy sound, as if he'd run into something, and Roger poked his head out the door. He was half dressed, his slacks and an old t-shirt on. "What? That's not even on my test!" he protested, then disappeared to finish dressing.

"At least he's smart enough to remember what's _not _on his test," Hayden said when he came out of the room. He shut the door and locked it, a cup of coffee in his hand. He downed about half of it before licking his lips and sighing. "And don't start asking me questions, or I'll punch you," he said to Cameron.

Cameron held his hands up in surrender. "Wasn't going to."

A few minutes later, they had all finished getting dressed and they started toward the school. Louis was practically leaning all his weight on Michael as they walked, almost asleep.

"I absolutely hate midterms," Michael sighed, keeping Louis' head up with his shoulder.

"If you guys hate midterms, considering East is supposed to be the smartest wing," Cameron said, "then what do the other wings think?"

Roger wrinkled his nose. "Oh, they hate them. One of the South seniors last year burned his spring midterm in the middle of class," he said. "That's how much South hates them."

"North doesn't hate them _too _much. I mean, they still hate them, but not as much as South," Hayden added.

"And West just doesn't give a crap," Louis finished sleepily.

When they were inside the building, they faced masses of boys attempting to get in last-minute studying. They all shared worksheets and reviews, glancing at the clock on the wall. Lovett stood in the open doors of the choir room and was shooing boys out of the way, telling them to get to class.

"Well, it looks like we part here," Michael concluded. He shifted Louis from his shoulder.

"Good luck," Louis said colorlessly.

"So long." Roger picked at the Warblers pin on his lapel.

Hayden grinned at him. "Farewell."

"Aufwiedersehn," Michael chimed in happily.

"Good_bye_," Cameron said flatly, not in the mood to start singing for once. He nodded to the others and maneuvered his way through the huddles of students to his first period exam.

* * *

"Mr. Taylor, may I speak to you?" Mr. Hayes asked the moment Cameron stepped into the room. His eyes had been set on his desk on the far wall, and Tony in the next seat. Tony had met his eyes, almost with a smile, but then Mr. Hayes decided to step in.

"Sir?" Cameron said and reluctantly followed him to his desk.

Mr. Hayes braced his hands on the desk. "Today happens to be midterms, if you have been blind enough to not realize. Do you have your tutoring sheet filled out?"

Cameron blinked at him. "Tutoring sheet?"

"The one you've been using to record sessions with Anthony?" he prompted.

"Right, right," he muttered and started digging through his bag. He came up with the sheet a minute later, completely covered in his neat handwriting. He handed it over and watched as Mr. Hayes studied it carefully, his toes curling nervously in his shoes.

"Good work," he said with a smile, placing it on his desk. "I can only hope that Anthony has learned much from you. Maybe he'll actually get a decent grade on today's exam."

Cameron bobbed his head and made a beeline toward his seat when Mr. Hayes was finished speaking. He sat down and dropped his bag at his feet, then turned to look behind him.

In the past week, his conversations with Tony had been scarce. If there happened to be one, on the off chance, it was only a few words, not long sentences. Tony had refrained from making smart comments to every little thing Cameron did, from dropping his pencil to playing with a curl that stuck out randomly. He had been silent.

But now, Cameron turned to look at him. He had dyed his hair from the bright orange it had been during Halloween to a dark turquoise. It hung down in front of his eyes, shielding him.

Cameron had a feeling he remembered everything, from drinking a little too much to knocking on Cameron's window, from telling him about his parents and his mother's death to teasingly attacking him. He didn't need to ask if he knew or not.

"So, are you ready?" Cameron asked finally, after minutes of silence.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Tony remarked in a mumble, doodling on the corner of his paper. He lifted his head and his brown eyes were pointed. Licking his lips, he glanced across the room at Mr. Hayes. "Look, can I apologize for what happened?"

Cameron stared at him. "Apologize? For what?"

"You know what," he snapped, eyes flickering to the other boys that were coming in through the door. "I know we haven't had much time to talk, but I want to apologize, okay? I shouldn't have come to you when I was flat out drunk—"

"You weren't that drunk," Cameron murmured.

Tony shook his head. "Even so, I still shouldn't have come to you. I don't know why I dragged you into that mess."

"It wasn't a mess. I… I enjoyed it. The talking, and everything," he said hastily. "It was nice to hear everything."

Tony fidgeted in his seat. "I guess. But still, you won't have to worry anymore about being pulled through a window by me in the middle of the night. If I'm going to come get you for any reason, I'd rather meet you at the door."

Cameron smiled a little. "Okay, that's reassuring."

"Did you get in much trouble with Hayden and the others? Because it was four in the morning when you went back, and I suspected everyone was done by then."

"They were back, and I…" He trailed off. "I told them that Nate had kidnapped me, like you told me to tell them, but Hayden said that Nate was with them the entire time, so that plan completely back fired."

The tip of Tony's pencil snapped when he put too much pressure on it. "So what did you tell them?"

Cameron held back a laugh. "I told them that you were drunk and you tied me to one of the soccer goal posts as part of a Halloween prank on the new kid," he said, covering his mouth.

At first, Tony's face flushed pink, but he laughed. "But really, did you have to tell them I was drunk? Michael's probably going to turn me in to Markus for it."

"I'm sure you'll be fine. He wouldn't do that to you."

"It's Michael. He and the others hate me. I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate if they had the chance to throw me in front of an eighteen wheeler."

Cameron wrinkled his nose. "You'll be fine," he repeated. "But what else was I supposed to say? You were probably the only one not with the rest of your wing, so they didn't know what you were doing. It was a pretty good excuse, if you ask me."

"Sure, sure. But if I get picked on for tying you to a goal post, then I'm really going to tie you to a goal post," Tony threatened with a smile.

Mr. Hayes clapped his hands at the front of the room to get everyone's attention. "Alright, everything away. You may have a calculator and a pencil on your desk, but nothing more. Phones off and in your bags, I don't want to see you texting in the middle of this exam…"

"Good luck," Cameron whispered before he turned around.

"I would wish you good luck, but you don't really need it," Tony replied.

"It's still nice to hear it."

"Then good luck."

* * *

"Hey, Hart. I'd like to talk to you about something."

Tony stopped in the middle of the hallway, passing between first and second periods. Over the course of the exam first period, he had hardly focused. Every time he'd come across a problem he didn't know how to work, he glanced up and found Cameron working studiously on his test. He had stared at the back of Cameron's head, at the boy's blond hair that curled softly at the ends, for what seemed like ages.

Then he had realized that he had a test in front of him and he ducked his head to continue working.

Now, Tony turned to find bulky Roger Beaumont walking beside him. Roger wasn't much shorter than he was, but he was built with enough muscle to play football.

"Great. Did Hayden send you? Am I going to get a stern talking-to from Louis next?" he asked dully.

"I'm only talking to you because Hayden's on the other side of the school right now and he didn't think he could get over here quick enough," Roger explained. "Listen, Tony. Cameron told us what happened on Halloween."

Tony snorted. "With the goal posts?"

"With the goal posts," he agreed, "and you drinking. You know that you could get into serious trouble for drinking on campus, Tony."

"Yeah, I know. But the rest of the wing was drinking, too, so I don't see Michael picking off every single one of them for that," he said tartly, turning the corner.

Roger pursed his lips. "That's true. But really, Tony? Drinking and then tying him to a goal post? I know it was for Halloween and everything, but tying him up seems a little extreme."

"That's the point of a prank, Beaumont. Sometimes it's supposed to stretch past the boundaries of a normal prank."

"So drinking is supposed to be part of a prank that stretches past normal boundaries?"

Tony tightened his hand around the strap of his bag. "Look, Beaumont. You've given me the warning you wanted to give me, so get on to class. We've both got exams next period."

"All I want to say is to be careful," Roger said, as if he hadn't heard him. "You and I both know you've had a little problem with alcohol in the past, and I want you to be careful."

"I'll walk on egg shells from now on," he promised, trying to keep the sarcastic feel from his voice but failing.

"And stay away from Cameron."

Tony stopped, blinking. "What?"

Roger met his eyes. "You heard me. I think it would be better if you stayed away from Cameron. I know you think you're somewhat friends with him, but everyone else and I don't feel like it's a good idea if you hang around him a lot."

"Is it just because my mom died?" he asked in a quiet, furious voice. "Is it because I happen to have a small liking for alcohol? Is it because my freaking hair is not a normal color?"

"You're just a bad influence, Tony. I don't want you rubbing off on him," Roger said steadily, even when Tony stepped up to him.

Tony exhaled through his nose. "You know we have classes together, Roger. There's no doing anything about that. And Cameron still has to tutor me in math," he said somewhat triumphantly.

"Last I heard, he didn't have to tutor you anymore if you scored high on today's exam," he said rigidly.

"And we're both in the Warblers," Tony added hastily. "Lovett could decide to pair us up for the Fall Fest, or even the Winter Festival. The Fall Fest is coming up soon and Lovett's probably going to talk to us about a sing off."

Roger swallowed. "You're not going to try for a lead, Tony."

"Oh, I will," he said lowly. "I will try for a lead, and I know Cameron will, too. He's just the kind of person that doesn't give up. He's going to do it."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will. I know Cameron," Tony repeated. Before he could hear anything else Roger had to say, he brushed past him down the hall.

* * *

When lunch came around, Cameron dropped into his usual seat, flinging his bag on the table and resting his head in his hands. He was too exhausted to eat and his right hand cramped from writing multiple essays for his History exam.

"You okay?" Louis asked in the middle of a bite of salad.

"Fine," he muttered.

"You don't look fine," Hayden said warily.

Cameron raised his head and blinked. "I am perfectly fine. I just really, really hate exams."

Michael laughed and stirred his bowl of soup. "Everyone does."

"No, really. I _really _hate them. I just wrote four timed essays for my History exam and my hand feels like it's going to fall off," he said and he raised his hand weakly. "Does it look like it's going to come unattached?"

"Looks fine to me," Hayden said, examining it. "But I'm no doctor, so I don't really know."

Cameron sighed and stood up to grab food. Roger brushed past him and, with his face flushed, he set down his tray with a huff. All eyes went to him and he looked up, surprised.

"What?" he asked, hastily unscrewing the cap off his water bottle.

"What's with all that? You look like you just came from track practice," Louis said. He shoved his glasses up his nose.

Roger's eyes flew to Cameron's retreating figure. "It's about Tony."

"Oh, great. If it's anything about him, it's not going to be good at all," Hayden groaned, chewing.

"You know that the Fall Fest is coming up soon, right?" Roger asked in a quiet voice, even though Cameron was across the room and well out of earshot. "Well, I'm pretty sure Tony's going to challenge for a lead opposite Cameron's."

Michael squinted. "Who says Cameron is going to challenge for a lead? He doesn't even know about the Fall Fest. In fact, I don't think Lovett's talked about it at all during class."

"And how do you know this? That Tony's going to challenge?" Louis questioned. He had abandoned his food completely, as had the others.

"I stopped him in the hallway between first and second today and talked to him a little—"

"Dude, don't tell me you tried to play tough guy on him. I know you could practically take down a bear with your insane bodybuilder physique, but I wouldn't take any chances with him," Hayden said around a mouthful.

Roger shook his head. "I just talked to him, I didn't threaten him or anything. I just told him to stay away from Cameron because of the thing at Halloween, and I didn't want Cameron dealing with him."

"And he said he was going to challenge for a solo opposite for Cameron's, if Cameron decides to challenge?" Michael repeated, his eyes narrowed.

"That's about right," Roger said with a nod.

Hayden's expression darkened and he glanced across the dining hall at Cameron, who had stopped to talk with Tony at his table. Tony was grinning as he said something, and in reply, Cameron had his head ducked to hide a smile. "I don't like the idea of him hanging around him. This is not good."

"What are we going to do about it?" Louis asked in a whisper.

"We're going to do everything we can to keep those two apart," Roger said firmly.

Michael stared at him. "How? It's not like we can get in the way of their tutoring, or take Tony out of his classes. And there's no way to avoid Warblers," he said. "This is going to definitely be a problem."

But before anyone could reply or agree, Cameron approached the table and sat down, glancing at everyone.

"What's wrong? You all look like someone just ran over a cat," he said, grabbing his water bottle.

"Might as well, if that cat had blond, curly fur and blue eyes," Louis muttered under his breath, but Michael jabbed him in the ribs.

* * *

When third period started, Ms. Lovett looked unusually pleased, which caught most of the boys on edge, since she hardly ever started the class out with a smile. She shut the doors and clapped her hands together, her rings clicking together.

"Hello, boys!" she said cheerfully as she moved to the front of the room. "I hope you're all happy about almost being finished with midterms. Only one more left, correct?"

The Warblers didn't seem to know what to see and they all looked at each other.

"Never mind," she sighed, brushing dark hair from her face. "Anyway, big news today. As most of you remember from last year, the Fall Fest is coming up soon. I hope you're all excited about that."

"Does she usually get jazzed up about a performance?" Cameron whispered to Hayden, and Hayden nodded in reply.

Lovett shuffled through papers on her desk. "Now, this year is going to be pretty much the same as last year, with a few group songs with leads. We're inviting all the parents by special invite, and it's going to be a good time."

The color drained from his face. "Parents? Our parents get invited?" he asked, almost forgetting to lower his voice.

"Yeah, they always come. Lovett doesn't think it's an actual 'fest' if the parents aren't there to see it," Roger said from his left.

"So we're going to have a primary lead and a secondary lead for the first tune, followed by two group numbers, just like we did for Sectionals," Lovett went on, waving her hands; the sunlight caught her rings. "I'm going to ask for volunteers, but if no one speaks up, I'll just pick people. Would anyone like to come forward now?"

Silence crossed the room and Cameron could hear his own heart beat in his ears.

"No one?" she said, aghast. "Where is Ian? Surely he'd want to try for primary, wouldn't he…?" She craned her neck to scan the room.

"He's, uh, sick, ma'am," Lucas piped up after clearing his throat.

Her face dropped. "Sick?"

Lucas nodded and leaned back when he was faced with her sharp stare. "Yes, ma'am. He's been sick for the last week. He caught a bug from the Halloween party," he said.

She made a _tsk-tsk _noise and plopped down in her seat. "Well, that's a shame, isn't it?"

Cameron looked over to see Hayden nearly bouncing in his seat. "What?"

"Ian is never sick!" he exclaimed quietly. "Oh, gosh. This is just great. Lovely. Amazing. _Spectacular! _What if he's not well enough to perform at the Fest? That would definitely make my day."

Cameron folded his hands in his lap. _What would happen if I tried for primary without Ian? Would I win? Would I have won the lead at Sectionals if Ian hadn't?_

"I'll try, ma'am," he blurted suddenly, his voice breaking the silence, and he raised his hand halfway.

A smile appeared on Lovett's face. "Good, good. Primary?"

"Please," he nodded, and he felt everyone's eyes locked on him. He sensed Hayden's jaw drop.

"I'll try," Tony chimed in a moment later. He paused to glance over at the boy, but noticed Roger, who had set his jaw. His expression softened slightly as Tony said, "Primary, please."

Roger's shoulders dropped in relief and he met eyes with Hayden, nodding once. Hayden looked relieved as well, and Cameron's eyes flickered between them questioningly. He wanted to ask what was going on, but he refrained, figuring he would find out later.

Lovett looked ready to question, but she simply nodded and she wrote down his name. "Come on, boys. We need a secondary lead. Anyone willing?"

Louis clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and grinned. "I will, Ms. Lovett. And I'm sure my leg will be out of this bloody boot by the time the Fest rolls around," he said knowingly.

"Fine, but if you end up getting secondary and your leg is still in its current condition," she said, writing, "then I'm taking you out and giving your lead to someone else."

He gave her a salute, like an army sergeant, and he stared at Michael for a long moment, until Michael finally gave in and offered to try for secondary. Lovett chuckled and put him down on her list, as well.

The class dragged on for another hour or so, with Lovett giving them music to try that could possibly be good for Regionals. Some part of Cameron wondered whether she'd planned out music for Nationals already, just in case.

When the bell rang overhead, he gathered his things and started out the door before Hayden could say something. He caught Tony as he was leaving the room and he pulled him to the side.

"What gives?" he snapped, but then he realized it was Cameron, and he added softly, "Oh, hey."

"What was that? Back in class? You trying for primary lead," Cameron asked.

Tony shrugged carelessly. "I just thought I would have a chance since Ian wasn't here."

"And you think I'm not going to be a challenge?" Cameron's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Is that what you think?"

"No, not at all," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, Cameron, I didn't mean—"

He wrinkled his nose distastefully. "Well, if you want a challenge, you're definitely going to get one, Tony Hart," he said sharply. "I am going to pull out all the stops when the sing off comes up and you are going to wish you had gone for secondary instead."

"Cameron, I didn't want to—" he started.

"I'll talk to you later, I've got one more exam left," Cameron interjected, glancing at the clock. "I'll see you after school in the library for tutoring again, and we'll talk. Okay?"

"Wait, we're having another tutoring session?" he asked, dropping what he was going to explain.

"Well, you haven't gotten a good grade _yet, _so yes, tutoring is still on." Cameron flashed him a small smile before ducking down the hall, with Tony staring after him.

Then, Hayden was in his line of sight, glaring at him.

"What?" Tony asked as he pulled his gaze away from where Cameron had just disappeared.

"Don't 'what' me," Hayden snapped. "Roger told me everything that happened in your little talk this morning."

Tony shook his head. "Talk? Oh, that. It wasn't really much of a talk, it was more him telling me not to drink and then to not be around Cameron, and just—"

Hayden held up a finger. "Look, Hart. What you did back in the choir room really scared the hell out of us. Roger said that you would definitely try for secondary if Cameron tried for primary, or vice versa," he said. "We actually thought you were going to do that, but when you went with primary… Why?"

"What do you mean, why? And hurry up, there's a few minutes left until we're both late," he mentioned.

"Why'd you choose primary? Now you're going to have to sing against him for the part," Hayden said flatly, dropping his hand.

Tony shifted. "Maybe, for once, I decided to take something you guys said into consideration. Roger told me not to go for the lead opposite Cameron's, if he tried—which he did—and I didn't. I picked the same part."

Hayden didn't say anything, but stared at him.

"And thanks to you," he went on gruffly, "Cameron's pissed at me because he thinks that I'm only doing this to get the primary lead because Ian's not here. He thinks I don't think he's going to be much of a challenge, like Ian always is."

"Maybe it serves you right. After all, you did tie him to a soccer goal post when you were drunk," Hayden pointed out.

Tony pinched his lips together, holding back the words to what really happened that night, and brushed past him. "Maybe it does serve me right."

* * *

After fourth period, Cameron stepped out of the dark cave that was his Astronomy class and into the brightness of the hallway. His exam had gone as well as he had planned, with every answer coming to him right away. Now, he had nothing more to study for and it felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

But it came back down again when he realized that he was still meeting Tony in the library. There was something about the taller boy that made Cameron squirm, from the way he talked to the way he looked at everyone else. On some days, he liked Tony, but on other days, he wanted to knock him square in the jaw, even though he cringed at the thought of hurting someone else.

Now, he walked as slowly as he could down the hallway to add more time. He saw Hayden waiting at the bottom of the stairs and he almost missed a step. Hayden was wearing a stern look on his face and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest, opposite to the bubbly smile he presented most days.

"Hey," he said when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Hayden replied, and he didn't say anything more. They walked for a few minutes down the hall before Cameron paused in front of the library.

"I sort of have to tutor this afternoon," he said sheepishly, inching toward the doors. He didn't have to say who he was tutoring because Hayden made a face.

Hayden sighed. "Oh, come on, Cam. It's just Tony. It would be like a taste of his own medicine if you bailed on him just this once," he said.

"I can't do that. It's his grade we're talking about." Cameron gripped the door handle. "I'm sorry, Hayden. It's not because I favor Tony over you, but I made a promise to our professor, and—"

Hayden held up a hand. "Say no more. When you finish, the guys and I will be watching season five of Doctor Who. And just so you know, David Tennant regenerates at the end of season four." He turned on his heel and started down the corridor.

Cameron rubbed his temples soothingly, then pushed into the library. Mrs. Booth was nowhere to be seen and the room was almost empty, save for a few freshmen working on the computers on the far end. He started through the maze of shelves to the back table, where he always sat with Tony.

"Okay, let's get this started, and—" he started, but he stopped when he found the table empty. Tony's bag wasn't on the floor or hanging from the chair, and there was no trace of him anywhere. "Never mind."

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the chair he usually sat in and waited for a few minutes. _Maybe Tony is just late because he's_ _always late to everything, _he thought to reassure himself, and he started checking his phone and running through emails.

There were three missed calls from his parents, two from his dad and one from his mom, and a handful of short texts from Peter. Most of them said he wanted to talk because he was finished with his exam and he was already bored, and that he and the choir had made it past their Sectionals.

Cameron tapped him a quick message after considering the time zone change, and drummed his fingers against the table. His phone buzzed a second later and part of him expected it to be from Tony, but it was Peter, replying: _Yeah, just got finished with third period. Pretty boring. How were your exams?_

For the next thirty minutes, Cameron sat at the table in the back of the library, texting Peter and absently wishing he was back in Texas.

* * *

"Mr. Hart, please take a seat." Dean Markus had his hands folded on his desk. He was not that old of a man, reaching his early forties, but the way his brows furrowed together created creases on his forehead made him appear older. His hair was combed back and his eyes were sharp.

Tony carefully sat down in one of the plush chairs and he gently set his bag down on the floor beside his feet. He had been in his position before, sitting before the Dean in his small office. His desk was littered with papers and displayed one family photo, and several degrees hung in frames from the wall. The scent of vanilla and old paper hung in the air, a smell that made Tony's heart pick up pace.

The last time he was in this office was when he was reprimanded for nearly running over Ian Foster at the beginning of the current year, but he remembered this office the most when he was called in to be told about his mother's passing.

Every time he had sat in front of the Dean, the reasons were not very good, and he didn't expect any different this time.

"You wanted to see me?" Tony asked. He sat up straighter and avoided letting his hair fall in his face and mask his eyes.

"Yes, I did. And before you ask," Markus said in a flat voice, "yes, you are in trouble. You are in quite a bit of trouble, actually."

Tony's face drained of color and he refrained from making a remark. He only curled his fingers around the armrests of the chairs and nodded.

"Do you have an idea as to why you're in this position?" Markus asked. He fiddled with the one photo of his wife and son, turning it and wiping the dust off the glass.

"No, sir. I do not," Tony said, and his voice came out very clipped. His eyes skirted to the clock that hung on the wall next to the handful of degrees and he nearly jumped up; Cameron was waiting for him in the library, and he was fifteen minutes late.

But he said nothing, only eagerly wrapped his hands around the armrests of his chair.

"Let me tell you," Markus sighed, and his raised his voice a little. "Tony, you are a very well-respected young man, please understand that. The past three years with you have been a blessing, even though it may not seem that way."

Tony bit his lip; Markus was the only member of the staff who didn't call him 'Anthony.' He knew Tony's father well enough to know what to call him. "I understand."

"And although we've had a few problems during your time here, you're not bad at all. It's your actions that are not as good as they should be." Markus cleared his throat. "And recently, your actions have not been good at all."

"What exactly did I do?" Tony couldn't help but ask.

Markus sighed again and he reached for a small notepad. "Yesterday, Mr. Michael Graham came into my office after the last bell to tell me that you were drinking on campus last week on the night of Halloween," he recited. He turned his eyes on Tony. "Is that true?"

Tony's throat closed and he blinked. Instead of thinking of a reply, all he wanted to do was storm across the campus and yell at Michael until he lost his voice or until someone knocked him out. But he stayed put, his muscles locked.

"Tony?" Markus prompted.

"That's true," Tony allowed, his voice low, "but it was hardly a traceable amount, sir—"

"And is it also true that you tied Mr. Cameron Taylor to one of the soccer goal posts after you had consumed the certain amount of alcohol?" he interjected.

Tony sat ramrod straight in his chair. "That part is not true, sir."

Markus raised his eyebrows. "Really? Is that so?"

"Yes, sir." He picked at a loose thread on the armrest and he took a breath. "I only went to the East wing to say hi to him, and he walked me back to my dorm when he saw my—my state of sobriety," he said uncomfortably. "We talked in my room until he was sure I was fine, and then he returned to East."

"So you didn't tie him to the goal post?"

Tony shook his head. "Not at all, sir."

"Who do I need to believe, Tony? You or Mr. Graham?" he asked.

"Nothing against Michael, of course, but I think my side of the story is more veritable than his." Tony pressed the ends of his hair between his fingertips absently.

Markus stared at him for a long minute before he glanced down at his desk, at his shuffle of papers. "Say I believe you over Mr. Graham about tying Cameron to the goal post. But you also confirmed that you were drinking on campus, and that is against school policy."

"I understand," he said. His eyes fixed on the Dean's golden name plate, tracing each letter mentally.

"So you will understand when I say I need to call your father," Markus said, reaching to the corded phone that sat on the corner of his desk.

Tony nearly jumped out of his chair and he jerked. "I can't let you do that."

Stunned, Markus sat back and dropped his hands. "And why can I not? I believe I'm the authority, not you."

"You are," he assured quickly, "but my father doesn't really need to know about this. Ms. Lovett has already called him once recently, about Sectionals."

Markus nodded once knowingly. "Ah, yes. I heard about that. It's a shame that you left. But the Warblers pulled through for you, and it sounds like you're all going to Regionals in February. Good job."

"Don't congratulate me, sir. Everyone else, but not me."

"And do you mind if I ask why you left?" Markus picked up a pen and idly drew small circles on the corner of the notepad, by his note about Michael. "Because I heard that you were in the middle of the song when you decided to head out."

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek. "I… I don't deserve it."

"Don't deserve it?" he repeated in awe. "Well, it seemed like you deserved it when Ms. Lovett gave you the lead in the first place."

"I know, but she was only hoping that I would pull through for her again."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

Silence stretched between them, pounding against Tony's eardrums, and he stared at the clock, watching the second hand move. He knew Cameron was probably pacing in the back of the library, wondering where he was.

"But you say you don't deserve it," Markus said. "Why don't you?"

"I'm no good," Tony said simply. "I'm no good for anything, and I'm no good for anybody."

Markus glanced at the window, then back at him, his hard expression softening. "Is this because of your mother, Tony?"

"No, it's not. I wish people would stop assuming that it's always about my mom, because most of the time, it's not," he almost growled.

"Then what was it about?"

Tony fell silent and he sunk into the chair, wishing the floor would open up and suck him down.

Markus pursed his lips. "Let's not go any further on that subject, alright? We need to talk about why you're here right now," he said, and he reached for the phone.

* * *

When the clock was nearing four forty-five, Cameron's phone buzzed. He picked it up and poised his fingers over the screen, waiting for Peter's reply to show up. He had been texting back and forth with the other boy since school ended, and they'd talked about music and exams and other things.

Peter had had the idea to come visit him during Christmas, but Cameron had immediately dismissed the idea, saying he would come to Texas instead. He had other family and friends that he needed to see, anyway.

But when the screen lit up, it wasn't Peter. It was Tony.

_Give me ten minutes. I swear, I'm sorry, okay? Just give me ten minutes._

Cameron stared blankly at the phone for what seemed like an hour before angrily typing back: _No, I've been in the library since school ended, and I don't care what your excuse is. I'm not waiting any longer for you._

He slammed the phone down on the table, facedown, and stared at the spines of the books on the shelf behind him.

* * *

_I'm not waiting for you any longer._

Tony's blood turned to ice when he saw Cameron's reply. He had the urge to call him to explain that he was currently in the Dean's office, watching him talk to his father on the phone to discuss his punishment. But the urge was drowned when Markus tapped the desk.

"Phone," Markus mouthed and held out his hand.

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Markus held the phone away from his ear.

"Anything you say, your father can hear," he reminded him softly. "Now, phone."

Tony licked his lips and placed the phone face down on the table. He shifted in his chair when it vibrated again, but Markus glared at him.

"Yes, yes," he said into the receiver, watching Tony closely. "Yes, I have him in front of me right now. Do you want to—Okay, okay, that's fine. Okay, I'll write out the appropriate punishment. Yes, that's fine. Okay, yes, sir. Thank you for your time." He hung up.

"Your father says hello," he said, amused.

"Why didn't he just ask to speak to me himself?" Tony demanded.

Markus massaged his temples. "I started to ask, but I don't think he's feeling very charitable towards you right now, to be honest."

"Really? I wouldn't imagine."

"Anthony," he said shortly, "your sarcasm is not appreciated in this situation. I'd prefer you to refrain from making any more remarks."

Tony crossed his legs. "Yes, sir," he said. "So what's my write up?"

Markus glared crossly at him, and he dug in his drawer for a purple pad of paper. The sight of the purple made Tony's eyes widened. He had been accustomed to yellow, for detention, and sometimes pink, for kitchen duty, but hardly ever purple.

"Sir—" he started.

"You are getting a healthy dose of suspension," Markus explained crisply as he wrote. "Starting on Monday, you will not be allowed back on this campus for a total of twenty-one days. Which includes no coming to loiter and say hello to your friends, or Cameron."

"I wouldn't imagine that he wants to see me, anyway," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."

Markus ripped the paper off and handed it to him. "I'm sorry, Tony. We've had a few instances in the past where you've gotten into a little bit of alcohol while on campus, but I've let it slide because your father has. But he's sick of your behavior, to be very blunt. He is sick of the way you're acting."

Tony resisted crumpling the paper in his hands and he held it delicately between his thumb and his forefinger, as if it was a ticking bomb.

"Please don't be too mad at him, Tony. He's still as upset by your mother's passing as you are," he said gravely. "And she was a lovely woman, in all sense of the word. I'm sorry—"

"Everyone needs to stop saying they're sorry. It happened almost three years ago, not yesterday," Tony interrupted angrily. "Sir," he added.

Markus didn't seem to be upset by the cut off. "I know. I just think you should consider some counseling, or medication. I would hate to see an addiction to drinking form from just this."

"I'm not going to get addicted. It was just a little buzz that I wanted. I didn't even drink half a bottle," Tony insisted irately. He folded the suspension slip in half and got to his feet.

"I understand, but you understand the consequences of having alcohol on the premises," Markus said, and his voice rose. He stood when Tony did, bracing his hands against his desk. "Anthony, you are not dismissed until I say specifically that you are!"

Tony stopped halfway to the door and dropped his bag where he stood. He returned to his chair and his expression was blank, flat.

"Please understand that this suspension is for your own good. It will give you time to think, and it will give you time to spend at home with your sisters," Markus reminded him, his voice dropping several notches. "And your father will be pleased to see you."

"He's hardly ever home, so I don't know when he'd see me," Tony said.

"He has to see you once in the three weeks you're off from school," he said. He sat back down. "_Now, _you are dismissed. And remember the guidelines of the suspension. No coming back on campus until the twenty-one days are over."

Tony looked at the calendar on the wall. "So the beginning of December is when I'm allowed to come back?"

"That is correct." Markus had already moved on to other matters, rifling through the stack of papers on his desk.

"But, sir, I'm going to miss the Fall Fest," Tony blurted, his shoulders hiking with tension.

"Then so be it. You brought this on yourself." He didn't raise his head.

Tony let out a long sigh and leaned his head back. He sat there for a moment, his mind swimming, and then he stood. He swiped his phone from Markus' desk and picked his bag off the floor. When he reached for the handle, Markus stopped him.

"Oh, and I forgot to say this," he said, his voice somewhat brighter. "Good job on your Math midterm, Tony. You got an A minus."

Tony curved his lips into what looked like a sad, half smile before storming out of the office.

* * *

When the clock struck five o'clock, Cameron stood up from the table and jammed his phone into his bag. He had finished his conversation with Peter a few minutes ago, with Peter saying that he had to attend a choir rehearsal to prepare for their own Regionals competition. In that time, he'd read snippets of books from the shelves, even choosing a few to check out.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and collected the four books he'd picked out, ready to leave, when the doors creaked open. He froze and backed against one of the shelves.

A second later, Tony appeared, his face flushed and breathless. "Cameron, I—"

"I don't want to hear it," Cameron spat at him. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say to me, got it?"

Tony furrowed his brows. "I thought you weren't going to wait here for me any longer."

Cameron stopped, his teeth grinding together. "Only because I thought you would decide to show up."

"And I did!" he pointed out loudly.

"Yes, but a little too late," he snapped and gestured to the clock. "It's nearly time for dinner, and I've been waiting here for you since the end of school. Do your grades not mean anything to you? Do _I _not mean anything to you?"

Tony let his hands fall to his sides and his face was masked with irritation. "Cam, I'm sorry I didn't show up on time. I was held up—"

"And don't call me 'Cam'," Cameron added viciously.

"I was freaking held up in the Dean's office while you were waiting here!" Tony said over him, his pulse thudding in his ears. He saw Cameron drop his shoulders. "Yeah, I was in Markus' office, getting a suspension." He waved a little tag of purple paper.

Cameron raised his eyebrows and the books in his arms suddenly felt like bricks; he set them down before he could drop them all on his feet. "You got suspension? Why?"

"Apparently, Michael tattled on me to Markus about me drinking on Halloween," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Michael didn't. Oh, no," he breathed. "I can't believe he would do that!"

Tony licked his lips. "I sort of can. It's Michael and he's the Precursor. He's just trying to do what's right."

"But if he turned you in, did he turn the rest of the wing in, too? Because you said that the punch bowl was spiked, so everyone drank out of it, right?" Cameron asked, all the words running together.

"He just has it against me, personally. Everyone does. That's why he didn't turn in the rest of the wing," he mumbled, jamming the paper back into his bag. "And Markus got my dad on the phone."

Cameron blinked. "And what did your dad say? Did he try to get rid of your suspension?"

Tony chuckled warmly, sounding like music in Cameron's ears. "As if. He actually suggested the suspension for me."

"Your own dad?"

"He's the superintendent, Cameron," he reminded. "It's his job to regulate things that happen in this school, and all the other schools in the district. If he doesn't do his job, which includes giving his own son punishment, then the school board could vote him off."

Cameron sunk down into his chair. "I'm sorry, Tony. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"It's fine," he sighed, sitting down. He reached across the table and lightly traced the bumps of Cameron's knuckles, the smooth skin of the back of his hand.

Cameron sucked in a breath, feeling Tony's warm skin against his, but he didn't say anything against it. The contact made a current run up his spine. "So that's why you were late today?"

"That's why I was late today," he said shamefully. His eyes were locked on their hands.

"No other reason?"

Tony looked up. "No, I was also unscrewing the bolts from your car tires. I thought I would see if you could screw them back on again, seeing as you watched me the entire time when I did it," he joked, and his fingers picked at the little brass button on the cuff of Cameron's blazer sleeve.

Cameron rolled his eyes and moved his hand away, though he didn't want to. He slung his bag over his shoulder and collected his books again. "At least I know now that you didn't ditch me because you didn't want to see me."

Tony murmured something that got lost in the sound of the air conditioner.

He met his eyes briefly before looking away. "How many days do you have on suspension?"

"Three weeks," Tony sighed, and he got to his feet as well, straightening his tie. "That means I have to miss the Fall Fest, sadly."

"Does that mean—?" Cameron narrowed his eyes.

"Unless Ian comes back, you're going to be the lead," he finished with a nod.

Cameron held back a small smile. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You get the primary lead. You could always be a little happy about it," Tony said.

"I could, but it's hard to be happy when you're on suspension." He tucked his books to his chest and started navigating his way through the maze of shelves.

Tony followed close on his heels. "Yeah, but I'll be fine. I've been punished before."

"But have you ever been suspended?" he asked.

"No. This will be a new experience for me."

Cameron bit his lip when they reached the doors. He turned to face him. "Don't do anything stupid when you're on your time off. I don't want you to get in trouble and get another three weeks," he said with a smile.

Tony ran his hand through his hair. "We'll see," he said, brushing past him. He stopped. "Hey, keep your window unlocked for the next three weeks, okay?"

"Why? Are you planning to come back on campus? Tony, you know that's against the rules," Cameron said quietly, stepping toward him.

"Okay, fine, Mr. I Abide By The Rules," he said and rolled his eyes. "Then we'll meet off-campus. Will that make you happy?"

Cameron followed him into the hallway. "Who says we're meeting off-campus?"

Tony turned slightly pink. "I was just suggesting it. It doesn't mean you have to agree to it."

"No, it's fine. We can meet off-campus," he told him. "Just as not we're going to break any rules that could get me in trouble, of course. Because I won't be very happy with you if you get me in trouble."

Tony chuckled and bumped his shoulder teasingly. "You're going to be fine. If you've survived Dalton for this long, I think you can survive meeting me outside of school. I'll text you about it, okay?"

Cameron nodded slowly and watched him walk down the hall, then stop and turn around.

"Hey, Cam?" he called.

"What?" Cameron replied.

Tony leaned his weight on one foot. "Looks like you won't have to be tutoring me any longer. Markus told me I got an A minus on the Math midterm this morning." And then he turned the corner and disappeared.

Cameron smiled and hugged his books to his tight chest, feeling almost lightheaded.

* * *

And around the corner, Hayden leaned against the wall, frowning.

* * *

_In the next chapter: _Coffee is an item of peace, Cameron has to choose sides, and the stars provide him with some time to reflect.


End file.
